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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622407">The Hammer to Fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieMarieVivianWilkins/pseuds/JosieMarieVivianWilkins'>JosieMarieVivianWilkins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Institutionalisation [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, BPD, BPD Mickey, Bipolar Ian, Bisexual, Borderline Personality Disorder, Drama, F/M, Gay Sex, Growing Pains, Homophobia, M/M, Mechanic Mickey, Sequel, Series, Triggers, Violence, bi ian, bipolar, institution, institutionalisation, mental health, non-canon, on top of the world, trial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>65,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieMarieVivianWilkins/pseuds/JosieMarieVivianWilkins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey are back on the South Side after meeting in a mental health facility which saw them go through the motions together. Now they have to do that all over again whilst just trying to look like normal teens who weren't institutionalised. </p><p>'Everyone needs justice'</p><p>COMPLETE SERIES</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fiona Gallagher &amp; Sean, Fiona Gallagher/Sean, Ian Gallagher &amp; Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher &amp; Mandy Milkovich, Lip Gallagher/Mandy Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Institutionalisation [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>And here is the sequel to OTOTW. If you haven't read it, I would recommend it.</p><p>Unlike with OTOTW, I'll be putting trigger warnings in the end notes as I work through (rather than spending seven hours doing it after completing the fic and feeling like death), so if there's an end note then there is a trigger within the fic. Again, apologies if I miss anything that is triggering to anyone, please do mention it to me and I can always add it on.</p><p>Anywho, as per, I love feedback. </p><p>If you head to my tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - there are sometimes spoilers, oneshots, etc on there (I also take prompts if you have naythign you want)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                                                                                   </p><p> </p><p>Ian pulled Mickey close as he held him, feeling the older boy writhing and whimpering in his slumber. He gently brushed through his hair, saying softly “You’re fine, I’m here, Mick.” His boyfriend had struggled with restless sleep and nightmares since they had left the hospital.</p><p>But it only tended to be when they slept at the Milkovich house together. When Ian had spoken to Mandy about it, she had admitted that he was definitely worse when Ian slept there than not.</p><p>
  <em>“Huh? Am I making him worse? I can… I can go home…” Ian had felt completely broken up to hear that he was hurting his boyfriend.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No! No, I think it’s kind of to do with… I may be wrong, but, obviously, Mick is set on taking care of you, especially after the thing with that ass in the hospital. I think maybe when he’s sleeping, he worries about Terry coming back and… like, when you’re here you’re more at risk… or something?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’ve been spending too much time speaking to Perry over the months,” Ian had responded, nodding in agreement with the very-loosely-formed theory which Mandy had explained. She had reminded Ian that Jake had been attacked – murdered – when he was there, so that would always be a source of Mickey’s anxiety.</em>
</p><p>Giving Mickey’s shoulder a gentle shake, Ian roused his boyfriend awake with soft words and was met with wide, fear-struck eyes and his boyfriend tensing in his hold. “It’s me, Ian. You were having a nightmare,” Ian prompted, seeing the relaxation gradually pass over the sleepy boy’s features when he was able to blink through the sleep and verify the sight of his boyfriend.</p><p>“Another Terry/Jake dream?” He asked softly, stroking Mickey’s stubbly cheek.</p><p>Mickey shook his head slowly as he allowed himself to melt into the gentle touch; “You were Jake.”</p><p>“Nothing is going to happen to me. Or you. We’re safe.” Ian’s statement was firm and confident, intended to instil it into Mickey’s brain.</p><p>“I... yeah. I think it’s just… I’m a little more on edge because I have to go to the station to make my statement tomorrow.”</p><p>“That’s completely understandable. You know I’d love to come and wait for you… it’s just that Kash asked me to stay late and I need to really chip in on the squirrel fund.” Ian explained, giving Mickey’s cheek a gentle squeeze in reassurance. “But… I get off at four, so I’m all yours after that.”</p><p>“It’s cool, I get it. I’d like that,” Mickey replied, leaning forward to press his lips to Ian’s in a delicate kiss.</p><p>Ian was unaware, sleeping heavily through the remainder of the night, but Terry returned to Mickey’s dreams with a vengeance not long after the older boy had drifted off again. And he would continue to for a long time. That would be Terry Milkovich’s legacy, the depth of fear that he had struck into all of his children to the point that they wanted him dead or locked away for good.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Apparently, he had arrived too late though, sitting down to see a banner that read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY FIONA + MIKE’ in colourful, capital letters.</p><p>“Who’s Mike?” Ian chirped as he stood above his brother, a small smirk on his lips.</p><p>“Shut up, dude, I still gotta’ do the ‘Y’ for Mickey.” Carl looked over his shoulder at his smirking brother and flipped him the finger before turning back to his artwork.</p><p>“Mickey’s got a ‘C’ in it,” Ian pointed out, pulling a frown from the younger boy and a mumble of curse words.</p><p>“Gonna’ have a ‘D’ in it later!” Mandy’s input had all in the house who had experienced puberty laughing as Lip and Debbie looked at each other, confusion radiating from the pair of them.</p><p>Whilst Debbie worked on icing the birthday</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoop whoop, first chapter! Kind of a catch-up/whole load of juxtaposition of life on the inside and outside for them. Yes, lazy people who haven't read OTOTW, this is for you! Bed eggs...</p><p>Anywho, hit up thebestpartofthecarrotcostume and send me prompts! And, as per, feedback is life! Enjoy, beauties.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finding a rhythm which suited Ian and Mickey once the welcome home party had ended and been tidied up after had felt a little overwhelming. There had been so much during Ian’s nine-week (originally four-week legally mandated) stint at the hospital that had not been an issue.</p><p>For starters, he wasn’t the crazy one in the house that everyone trod on eggshells around. Hell, he had been attacked by this one chick for sitting in her seat. Another guy had knocked him out 55in order to help an unrequited love conquest (who had had strong feelings for Ian after one hasty session of hypersexual sex in a bathroom stall) in order to allow him to gag Ian and carve their bodies up in unison. Ian had had a boy kill himself beside him out of some deluded love, and had almost died himself as a result of the attack.</p><p>And that was just a few of the particularly strange goings-on that had happened whilst Ian had been institutionalised. In addition to all of that craziness, a small, angry boy had forced himself on Ian in some weird by-proxy kind of way. What’s more, Ian had somehow managed to fall in love with that perfectly crazy boy in that time. Moreover, the crazy boy without boundaries had ended up living just around the corner from him, and that boy’s older sister was banging Lip!</p><p><em>Small world</em>, Ian had constantly thought whilst in the hospital when he thought about all of those happy coincidences.</p><p>And that thinking was completely spot-on. Ian’s world whilst in the hospital had been small, with his responsibilities in that world reduced to eating, sleeping, attending therapy, and reciprocating the care and concern that his boyfriend had shown him whilst they had been there. And even more so, leaving the hospital together had reiterated just how stunted their lives had been whilst in there.</p><p>Money.</p><p>Work.</p><p>School.</p><p>Looking after the kids.</p><p>It all came rushing back at Ian in the days that had followed his discharge from hospital.</p><p>The issue of money had been made very clear when, just one day after getting home, when Ian had intended to go job-hunting and wanted to get his heavily-outgrown hair cut he had realised that nobody in the house had had a dollar spare for him to go to the barbers. And so he had had to make do, not wanting to return to his buzzcut days when he had been hot on junior R.O.T.C. and getting into West Point to die for his country. That haircut would feel like a slap to the face, a reminder that he would only be a cheap imitation – a shell – of a man suitable to serve his country. With the diagnosis of Bipolar and his unforgiving track record of behaviour when unmedicated, Ian had accepted that that dream had died, the ship had sunk harder and faster than the Titanic had.</p><p>Whilst Ian had looked like (in his own opinion) a hobo, he had managed to gain employment within in two days. Believed to be a futile trip down to the Kash and Grab, Ian had been surprised that, after his attempt to alleviate Linda’s reluctance to take him back on for his disappearing act, he had been sent away with the promise of a call the next day with a decision. The next day he was ecstatic to find that being truthful about his disorder and treatment with Linda had been enough for him to be able to start back at his old workplace that Sunday.</p><p>But getting a job did not necessarily remove the money issue he had realised, with Fiona having to pull extra maid shifts at the motel and roping Vee in to be able to squeeze it in between her other jobs in exchange for free childcare for the twins for the rest of the summer. Kev and Vee had always been a major crutch for the Gallaghers when times had been tough, helping to feed them when they couldn’t afford to do so themselves. But Fiona had explained to Ian that, since having the twins, their neighbours had been struggling due to the cost of babysitters when Vee’s mom was unable to do it. And that was why his sister had monopolised the fact that the kids were off of school for another three weeks; babysitting Gemma and Amy for a fraction of the extortionate price the high school babysitter charged the Balls. Vee not only made extra money from not paying the high price, but she also helped out her second family and kept Fiona from having to put on her war paint for a week of degrading Sticks and Skates shifts.</p><p>The efforts his sister and her friend had to go to cover the week of bills he would incur without being able to pay his way made his head hurt and his stomach ache with guilt. But that was what they did on the South Side he would remind himself, they would look out for one another, spurred on by the unspoken promise that the favour would be returned in a heartbeat.</p><p>The thought of school was an entire can of worms that Ian was not prepared to open until the worry of money had been alleviated, and so he had simply said to his sister that would look into it in a few weeks. The sullen look on his face had been enough to satisfy her, understanding that bombarding issues on Ian would not be good for his health. And he had to give her credit there; whilst his first return home after discharging himself whilst in the throes of a manic episode had not been as understanding, he had been supported and reassured constantly this time around.</p><p>Remembering that there were children in the house with him at times had been a difficult one to get the swing of, having to remind himself that he needed to check who was home before just heading out. He had almost made that mistake on the Saturday when he and Mickey had agreed to spend the afternoon at his with the purple haze and bottle of Jack that Mandy had given him that morning for his eighteenth birthday. Ian had just pulled on his sneakers and was making his way for the door when he had heard a cry. And in the Pack ‘N’ Play lay the two Ball daughters (he couldn’t tell them apart), one crying and one just being pulled from sleep by her sister’s cries. Only when he had rushed through the lounge into the kitchen to try to calm the girls did he see Liam sat on the couch, playing with some cars and letting out small revving noises.</p><p>And that was how Ian spent the day babysitting three children with his boyfriend, the pair of them high off their asses and contented to nap on the couch together as the twins slept peacefully in the Pack ‘N’ Play and Liam on the armchair later that afternoon.</p><p>Not everything seemed as easy or came as naturally to Ian as he remembered it had before he had been admitted, but he had his family, his boyfriend, and all of their friends to help him get back into the swing of things gradually.</p><p>
  <strong>* * * </strong>
</p><p>During his Sunday shift at the Kash and Grab, Ian had received a text from his younger sister, which had made him feel all too selfish when he had opened it at the end of his shift.</p><p>
  <strong>Debbie (16:12):</strong>
  <em> Fiona bday tom. Party?xxx</em>
</p><p>He had completely forgotten about his eldest sister’s birthday being so wound up in his own world, the girl who never allowed herself to forget anything about her siblings. He had agreed to work a longer shift on Monday, so he wasn’t too sure he’d have the energy to party after, originally intending to crawl up to his boyfriend. Mickey was scheduled to give his statement on Monday morning against his father for the murder of his boyfriend before him. With that in mind, Ian already felt guilty saying yes to work later, so he so desperately just wanted to go back to cuddle close to Mickey on Monday evening. And then it slowly fell together in his mind.</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (16:37):</strong>
  <em> Mickey’s was yesterday and we had to spend it babysitting. Think we could do a joint one for them both tonight? Fi has dinner shift at Patsy’s so would be easy to make it a surprise? X</em>
</p><p>A small part of Ian almost felt selfish asking to include Mickey into his family celebration, but he decided not to dwell on the fact, knowing that Lip brought Mandy to most family affairs anyway.</p><p>
  <strong>Debbie (16:38): </strong>
  <em>Omg ur a genius! Wen r u bk? Need help!!xxx</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (16:38): </strong>
  <em>Just leaving work now, be back in 10. Go tell Kev and Vee! X</em>
</p><p>Ian smiled as he tucked his phone away to hobble back to his home on North Wallace, feeling excited at the thought of another Gallagher blow-out where the Milkoviches were involved, knowing how much he had enjoyed the last one.</p><p>When he arrived home, Ian was shocked to already see Lip and Mandy on decorating duty, hanging balloons, streamers, and fairy lights as music played along in the background. The pair greeted him warmly, Mandy getting Lip to put her down from twirling streamers about the light fixture on the ceiling to pull him into a hug.</p><p>“This was an awesome idea, Ian! Thank you… for thinking of Mickey like that.” He had simply given her a small shrug and a smile as he heard Debbie calling out his name from the kitchen.</p><p>Debbie and Vee were stood at the countertop, Debbie mixing up a cake batter in a large bowl as Vee mixed up cocktails in glass pitchers.</p><p>“Ian, I’m working on a cake. Kev and Vee have the alcohol covered when Kev leaves the bar. Obviously, those two have decorations covered. Are you okay to take the kids upstairs and get them in the tub? It’s Liam’s bath night and you know Fiona will get all freaky if Liam isn’t clean.” Debbie explained, looking away from her bowl briefly.</p><p>Before he could answer, Vee was turning to him, “And I ain’t complaining at somebody cleaning my babies too before Kev can drop them off at Momma’s,” she had a cheeky grin on her face as she batted her eyelashes at him playfully.</p><p>“Sure, but I can’t carry them up,” Ian explained, turning to make his way for the stairs.</p><p>“I told you he’d say yes!” Debbie laughed, turning to look at her brother, “It’s a good job, too, because Vee already put their bath seats in the tub!”</p><p>Ian had simply laughed with the pair as he continued to make his way up the back staircase, calling after his youngest brother to follow him up.</p><p>After the younger children were all bathed and Gemma and Amy collected by Kev, Ian made his way to the dining table to help Carl with the banner he was painting. Apparently, he had arrived too late though, sitting down to see a banner that read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY FIONA + MIKE’ in colourful, capital letters.</p><p>“Who’s Mike?” Ian chirped as he stood above his brother, a small smirk on his lips.</p><p>“Shut up, dude, I still gotta’ do the ‘Y’ for Mickey.” Carl looked over his shoulder at his smirking brother and flipped him the finger before turning back to his artwork.</p><p>“Mickey’s got a ‘C’ in it,” Ian pointed out, pulling a frown from the younger boy and a mumble of curse words.</p><p>“Gonna’ have a ‘D’ in it later!” Mandy’s input had all in the house who had experienced puberty laughing as Lip and Debbie looked at each other, confusion radiating from the pair of them.</p><p>Whilst Debbie worked on icing the birthday cake, piping a birthday message for the guests of honour on it, the door opened unexpectedly, causing a few heads to turn. Fiona stood in the lounge with a sad look on her face, her big, brown eyes watery as she stared up at the banner that declared birthday wishes.</p><p>“What are you doing here so early, Fi?” Vee asked, crossing the kitchen and lounge to go to her friend with a concerned look.</p><p>“Sean and I… he’s using… and we fought… then I quit… now I’m fucked,” Fiona blubbed as she allowed her friend to pull her against her chest, mumbling about bills and pride and being an idiot.</p><p>“Hey, it’s fine, we’ll get through it like we always do,” Vee shushed a crying Fiona, rubbing a hand up and down her back.</p><p>“Yeah, Fi! The Gallagher way,” Lip insisted as he leant over the back of the couch to grin at their sister, “We slap on a smile, drink, and get high!”</p><p>“Exactly! Now, come on, let’s go and get your party face on,” Vee began to steer a slowly-nodding Fiona towards the stairs to get ready.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>When Mandy had called to tell him to get over to the Gallagher house, Mickey had been a little confused. Was something wrong with Ian? He hadn’t heard from him all evening. And Mandy’s voice did sound a little weird.</p><p>“Is Ian okay?” He had asked, worry evident in his voice. Mandy had laughed down the phone and reassured him that everything was fine but that he needed to get there quickly – “Bring the haze!”</p><p>Mickey furrowed a brow slightly before doing as his sister had told him, popping the baggy of weed into the pocket of his grey jeans and quickly going to give himself the once-over in the bathroom. Mickey’s looks had become more of a concern since he had gotten out of the hospital.</p><p>His old boyfriend, Jake, had preferred Mickey’s rugged, scruffy look, saying it was the authentic thug he had fallen for, but with Ian, Mickey wanted to look his best. Ian was like an Adonis, and Mickey needed to try and at least be worthy of the god that was his boyfriend. So, he fixed a few stray hairs that had slipped loose of his quiff, pulled on a fresh black tank top, and quickly brushed his teeth before leaving to make his way to the Gallagher abode.</p><p>Unsure of what he was or wasn’t walking in to, Mickey knocked on the front door cautiously. When he heard no signs of the door being answered, he tried the handle. Open, of course. Only when he saw the colourful twinkle of fairy lights cutting through the darkness of the home did he slowly step in.</p><p>“Ian? Mandy?” He turned the corner from the entrance hall to a large room of people yelling ‘surprise’ at him. Feeling embarrassed, Mickey looked down, thumbing at his bottom lip as a warmth spread up his cheeks. Luckily, the low lighting hid this fact from the throng of people before him. Mickey felt himself being pulled in to a hug, the familiar planes of his boyfriend’s body slotting in against his as the music was turned up loudly. “What’s this?” He mumbled into Ian’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss against it before looking up to see a grin in response.</p><p>“Fiona’s birthday tomorrow, yours yesterday – why not?” And Ian planted a soft kiss against his lips before pulling him beneath Carl’s banner to admire the young boy’s handiwork. “Happy birthday, Mikey,” Ian said loud enough for Carl to hear over the music and scowl in response.</p><p>“You couldn’t all be smart,” Mickey said playfully, scruffing a hand through Carl’s hair. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he liked the kid. He was boisterous, had enough hustle in him to get through life, and seemed to be pretty bad-ass in Mickey’s eyes.</p><p>“Street smarts,” Carl tapped his temple before darting off to get himself a beer from the crate that sat on the dining table.</p><p>After a little pressure from Mandy and Lip, Ian and Mickey agreed to do a shot – <em>one shot ­</em>– before sneaking on to the porch to smoke some weed and get a little space.</p><p>As he rolled the joint, his fingers fumbling due to that last shot feeling like two beers, Mickey broke the silence: “You guys always party this often?”</p><p>Ian barked out a laugh, thinking that Mickey had a point. “Well, not as much when school starts up, but… I guess. Tanya said that the whole ‘if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry’ thing to me but I think the Gallagher way is ‘if you don’t drink, you’ll cry,’ so that’s what we do. Fi broke up with Sean and quit her job earlier, but she’s having a great time!”</p><p>A laugh rumbled through Mickey’s chest at how Ian’s hospital therapist’s words had not sounded as good as ‘the Gallagher way’. “Ya’ can always cry with me if ya’ need to,” he said softly before lighting the joint and taking a heavy drag on it. He held it deep as he leaned into Ian, pulling the younger boy in for an open-mouthed kiss to breathe the smoke into his mouth and let his hand rub at the nape of his neck through his hair. “But I’d rather ya’ didn’t need to,” he mumbled, continuing on his earlier sentiment.</p><p>“Never need to cry when I’m with you,” Ian responded before stealing a chaste kiss from his boyfriend. “Although, I feel another shot might make me cry at how shitty I feel tomorrow, so get ready for some tears,” the Gallagher boy grinned as his eyes glistened excitedly and he leaned in for a deeper kiss this time.</p><p>Mickey revelled in the taste of smoke, weed and vodka on his boyfriend before helping him up to go and goad the other party-goers into another line of shots. He could definitely get used to this, having a family that made him feel at home. For as long as he was breathing, he would make sure that the beautiful ginger couldn’t slip out of his fingers, couldn’t be taken away, making a start tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: mention of death, drug-use, drinking</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Hank sits on his ass in front of football reruns all day! I’m Paul, I run the place.” He extended a hand to shake Mickey’s, briefly viewing the FUCK on his knuckles and letting out a little chuckle. “You must be Mickey, a friend of Perry’s,” the older man supplied, receiving a nod from Mickey. “Wondered when I was gonna’ see you.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry it took a while, a oneshot I've been working on has taken more than three days because my suinusitis is killing my brain flow. Anyway, number two for y'all!</p><p>Let me know your thoughts, and obviously hit up my tumblr and send me a prompt or smth - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Needless to say, Ian had been insanely grateful that Kash had taken him back on at the Kash and Grab so easily, but he had been told by Linda that Ian’s replacement had been a shitty teenager with no work ethic who was late all the time and gave his friends discounts. The competition may not have been hard, but it was a win nonetheless for the Gallagher boy. Whilst Ian had had to work to win around the real boss in the Karib family, Kash had admitted that Linda’s inclination to say yes to bringing the teenager back on board had been due to the worry that Ian would try to sue them for discrimination if they had not accepted him back. Ian had simply laughed and pointed out that he couldn’t afford to sue them if he had wanted to.</p><p>Working felt like part of the routine Ian had been missing during his stay at the hospital, and he found it was an aspect that just slotted back into his lifestyle easily. At first, the prospect had been daunting, and the thought of actually finding a job had been distressing as hell, knowing that his family needed his contribution for bills. But he had sucked up his worries and done it. And when he had told Fiona, she had been over the moon, hugging him tightly and congratulating him, quietly thanking him before she had pulled away. Doing his first shift the day before had felt natural though, and that helped Ian feel at ease.</p><p>The only thing Ian had made a point of was trying to keep a light hoodie on whilst he was working, the anxiety over his arms still something that he didn’t feel confident about around strangers. His family were accepting and supportive enough, if only because Fiona had sat down the younger ones and told them – Carl – not to make a thing of the scars he or Mickey had.</p><p>With another week left of having his cast on, the hoodie wasn’t as big an issue for him as it would have been if he were up and stocking shelves during the empty spells at the store. No, for now, he could comfortably hide behind the counter with the small desk fan attempting to fight off the extra layer’s heat (thought at the beginning of the day, that heat may have partially been due to the nagging hangover).</p><p>As he served a young boy, selling him his gum with a smile and a cheery goodbye, he saw Linda emerge from the door to their apartment above and greeted her warmly: “Hey, how’s it going Linda?”</p><p>“Good, Ian. Good. Thanks. And thanks for staying late to cover, the boys have an assembly with their scouts group and Kash had to miss the last one, so… thanks again.” The petite woman smiled at him, handing him one of the refrigerated sodas she had in her hands as she opened one for herself.</p><p>“I don’t have any cash on me right now to pay for it,” Ian protested, not yet opening the can.</p><p>Shaking her head, she waved a hand dismissively as she spoke, “It’s on me. Honesty, Kash coming to the assembly… it’s more for me than him I think.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Ian popped the can open and took a long, much-needed gulp of the fizzy Sprite, the coolness against his throat refreshing. “Is everything okay?” He enquired, seeing how Linda fidgeted with the ring pull on her soda uncomfortably.</p><p>“Umm, yeah. So, please don’t think I’m being rude but… is the long hair a new style you’re trying or…?”</p><p>Feeling slightly embarrassed, he ran a hand through the locks which now sat messily at his jaw and down the jack of his neck, “No. I… didn’t have the cash spare to go for a haircut when I got home.” He paused to clear his throat, “With me away for over three months, Fiona and Lip had to make up my share of the bills, so it seemed selfish to waste ten bucks on a haircut when that would pay for Liam’s diapers.”</p><p>“Oh, thank God,” Linda exhaled, putting a hand to her chest playfully, “I thought you’d become one of those scruffy hipster assholes who come in to ask if we have organic avocados and then leave when we say no.” Sliding her shirt sleeve up slightly to check her watch, Linda smiled at him and said “You’re really helping me out today. How about you take an hour and that ten bucks from the cash register and go and get a haircut – it’s too hot for long hair, I can promise you that.” She rolled her eyes up to where her hair was neatly tucked away behind her navy head scarf for emphasis. When she saw Ian shake his head and go to protest, she explained, “Stay an extra half hour and we’re square. I have time to cover you, so go now.”</p><p>After taking the ten dollars from the till as instructed, Ian balanced himself on his crutches and smiled warmly at his boss, thanking her appreciatively as he left the store to head to the barbershop a couple of blocks over.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Once Ian had left for work that morning, Mickey made a point of busying himself until eleven-thirty, when he had arranged with Detective Sparkes to meet her at the Chicago Police Department. Mandy had given him Detective Sparkes’ card when Mickey had questioned how the whole ‘trial/statement crap’ worked. She had explained that detective Sparks was leading the case and was a friendly woman who was really understanding.</p><p>And in keeping himself busy to try not to allow himself to worry too much, Mickey showered and shaved, and then began to clean his room. Figuring it was a new room and that Ian would be a frequent flier there, he decided he would keep on top of the tidiness of his room going forward. Toast and a cigarette were the last things Mickey did before anxiously checking his phone to see that it was only ten forty. Shit. How could he kill thirty-five minutes? The rest of the house was tidy, and nobody was home to entertain him. His mind flashed back to the folder of resources Perry had put together for him, thinking they may help to steady his nerves.</p><p>As he scattered the sheets contained in the plastic folder, he began to see familiar sheets from his exercises that had been set: letters to himself, lists of things he could do to reassure himself of anxieties within interpersonal relationships, a list of triggers to avoid and things to try to combat them; the couple’s tasks for him and Ian, the crisis contact numbers, his new therapist’s details, and then a sheet which he had never seen. It was a screenshot of a Google Maps section with some writing beneath it.</p><p>Hank’s Auto Shop was circled on the map, and he realised the map section showed directions from his house to the auto shop. The writing below it was Perry’s familiar scrawl:</p><p>
  <em>My brother owns Hank’s. I spoke to him and he’s willing to take you on as an apprentice mechanic. He’ll take you on at $11/hour to start with, but that will increase as your skills do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you’re ready and settled, head on down to the shop to discuss starting. He’s aware that you have a history of mental health because obviously he knows you were one of my patients, but he doesn’t know anything past that. He’s fully supportive, so don’t worry about that too much though.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Good luck!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perry</em>
</p><p>Mickey’s heart swelled. Perry was still pulling tricks out of his sleeves even when Mickey had been discharged. Looking at the map, he saw that Hank’s was only about twelve blocks away, and instantly he was pulling his boots on and rushing out into the Chicago heat which would begin to wane soon as fall pressed closer.</p><p>Mickey was probably pushing his luck if Perry’s brother wanted to speak for more than twenty minutes, but he was too excited by the prospect of getting into a job that he wanted. Following the map that Perry had printed for him, Mickey found himself standing before Hank’s Auto Shop not far from The Alibi Room. Damn, this job got better the closer Mickey got.</p><p>Walking in, Mickey came to a desk of sorts that had a young, blonde girl sat behind a computer with piles of paperwork vacating any space on the desk that wasn’t covered in computer equipment. The blonde girl smiled warmly at Mickey (he saw how her eyes tested the length of his body) and greeted him, “Hey, welcome to Hank’s, how can I help?” She made a point of batting her eyelashes as she spoke.</p><p>“I’m Mickey, I’m looking for Hank?” He spoke clearly, looking around to see half a dozen cars up on ramps throughout the workshop and a rack of tyres sitting behind the blonde girl’s desk.</p><p>Mickey heard a few laughs rumble nearby and saw a man with black hair and signs of a slight beer belly tucked into his overalls walk towards him; “Hank sits on his ass in front of football reruns all day! I’m Paul, I run the place.” He extended a hand to shake Mickey’s, briefly viewing the <em>FUCK</em> on his knuckles and letting out a little chuckle. “You must be Mickey, a friend of Perry’s,” the older man supplied, receiving a nod from Mickey. “Wondered when I was gonna’ see you.”</p><p>“Yeah, sorry, I had some shit- stuff goin’ on.” Mickey was a little too late correcting himself. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Mickey, it’s an auto shop, not a church. I don’t give two tits if you swear, so long as it ain’t done in front of customers.” Paul clapped Mickey on the back warmly, relieving the worried stance the young boy’s brows had taken. “Now, come on through, let’s go talk,” Paul had begun to walk towards a door beside the tyre rack, jerking his head for Mickey to follow.</p><p>They walked into what seemed to be a waiting room. There were half a dozen chairs split across the two sides of the room, a large window looking into the workshop, and a coffee table in the centre of the room with a few magazines and newspapers strewn across it. A water cooler sat in the corner with a small trashcan beside it. Paul sat down and gestured for Mickey to sit opposite him.</p><p>“So, my brother is crazy good at that whole patient-doctor confidentiality thing, so I know nothing about you other than your name, that you’re a patient of his, and that you want to be a mechanic.” Paul smiled warmly, “Just to be clear, this isn’t an interview. You have the apprenticeship, either way, nothing you say to me is gonna’ change that.”</p><p>Letting out a small breath that Mickey didn’t realise he had been holding, he nodded in appreciation and began to speak, “Umm, I’m not quite sure what ya’ wanna’ know. I mean, I didn’t finish high school because of obviously bein’ one of Pez’s patients.” Mickey wrung his hands in his lap, wanting to get the worst news out first. “I don’t have any actual experience as a mechanic, but my brother, Iggy, taught me to do the service on our car and how to do some odd bits like changin’ tyres, pads, discs.”</p><p>As if seeing that Mickey really didn’t have much else to say, Paul stepped in, “Well, the school thing ain’t a problem. We can subsidise half of your G.E.D., so the other half you’d pay but we could sort of set it up like a payment plan that works out for you pay-wise. I’ve been on an apprentice wage myself, I know it ain’t the best.”</p><p>“Oh, really? That’s awesome!” Mickey grinned his appreciation.</p><p>“Yeah, so that’s fine. And we can do it so the classes count as, like, half a shift or something, so you won’t get docked for attending those.” Paul wiped a hand across his brow, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m not gonna’ screw you over! Perry said you were a good kid, and I’m happy to be that person that takes a chance on you!” He smiled warmly at his soon-to-be apprentice. “And the stuff your brother showed you, that’s an awesome start! We’ll obviously have to go over them a little because they’re a little different depending on the car, but that then means that when we’re confident on that, we can send services your way so the more advanced guys can focus on diag’ work. That won’t be forever though, I’m not just gonna’ make you the service bitch, but it’ll mean that your entire day won’t be just watching and learning.” Paul’s eyes flitted to the clock on the wall behind Mickey’s head before he continued “How’s that sound?”</p><p>“Awesome, man! It sounds great. Thank you!”</p><p>“Okay, well, I’ve not got a lot of spare time today, but when can you start? I’ll get overalls in for you.”</p><p>Mickey was taken aback, and shrugged slightly before speaking “Umm, I’m kinda’…” He paused, wondering whether he should mention Jake’s case or not. But looking at the sincere-looking man before him who was willing to invest in him, he decided it was best. “So, I’m gonna’ nutshell this for ya’ here: my dad beat my old boyfriend to a vegetable, and he died, and I’m gonna’ be testifyin’ in the case, so I don’t totally know how that’s gonna’ work out timewise when it comes to the trial.”</p><p>Paul’s sad face cleared once he began to speak, “Sorry about that. I’ll give you my number and when you hear about stuff you can text me or call me. I can be flexible. We’re open twelve hours a day, and you need a forty-hour week, so we can sort of jiggle around, and you can do overtime to cover when you have to go, yeah? Just give me as much notice as possible.”</p><p>Mickey nodded, “Thanks,” he said softly as he pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it to put in a new contact. He handed it to Paul to input his details, nodding his thanks when he was given it back. He quickly dialled the number, hearing the beginnings of an ACDC song rumble from within his new boss’ overalls. “Awesome, thanks. And I will. I’m headin’ down to the station now to make a statement so I’ll ask the detective what the plan is and text you later if that’s okay?”</p><p>“Sure. Just let me know a day by this evening if that’s okay and we’ll go from there. Just let Lindsay at the desk know your size for overalls and ask her for the new starter paperwork.” Paul stood to shake Mickey’s hand, giving him one last smile before standing and opening the door back towards the workshop, holding it open for Mickey.</p><p>“Will do, thanks, man.” He then walked up to Lindsay to do as instructed. “Hey, I’m gonna’ be startin’ here, Paul said to get some new starter paperwork from you and say that I’m a medium for overalls.” Mickey saw how her eyes lit up when he mentioned working there and figured he would have to nip this one in the bud early.</p><p>“Oh, really? That’s amazing! That’s so exciting! I’m sure yo-” Lindsay began enthusiastically, grinning at Mickey.</p><p>From further away, Paul could be heard shouting, “He’s gay, Linds,” causing laughter to erupt from around him when he cut the administrator off.</p><p>A blush spread across Lindsay’s already-blush-laden cheeks as she stammered out her response loudly, “I- I wasn’t even- oh, fuck off, Paul!” She raised her perfectly-manicured middle finger and shot it at Paul’s retreating back. Another round of laughter could be heard from within the workshop, and Mickey found himself joining in with it.</p><p>Whilst Mickey was unsure how he felt about Paul telling his new colleagues that he was gay so brazenly, he knew there was no malice behind it, and decided that maybe he had done it as a saving grace. Even if Lindsay had been embarrassed in the process.</p><p>Lindsay cleared her throat uncomfortably, mumbling out about how Paul was an ass from behind her desk as she clacked away on the mouse and keyboard, before she directed her speech towards Mickey: “Okay, here’s the paperwork you need to fill in. You need to bring a couple things in with you so we can scan them in for tax purposes and everything, but there’s a sheet in there about that.” She passed Mickey a pile of sheets from the printer on her desk, a paperclip holding them together. “And I’ll get you some sets of overalls ordered and embroidered. Are you spelling it M-I-C-K-Y?”</p><p>“E-Y,” Mickey corrected, nodding his thanks as he accepted the paperwork and left the auto shop with a pleasant grin plastered across his face. Mickey’s anxieties were alleviated for now, and it felt good. He knew that would change in about thirty minutes, but for now, he allowed himself to take pride in the fact that he had a job.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: mention of scars, anxiety, mention of murder</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Only when he walked into the Milkovich home to see Mickey gnawing on his lip with a few stray tears on his cheeks and a soft mumbling of “You didn’t answer your phone,” did his mind flash back to the fact that his phone had gone off in the Kash and Grab and he had not answered it.  “You’re late, really late. I was worried.”</p><p>Sitting on the bed beside Mickey to pull him close, Ian shook his head, “I’m sorry. I had to stay late. I didn’t think-”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Update! I know, you all saw my tumblr post and are just here to know how Mickey feels about Ian's haircut - yes, I'm talking to you, Mary!</p><p>Anyway, big chapter here, both content and length comparatively, but it was necessary. </p><p>As per, hit me up with your feedback and get to my tumblr for updates, spoilers, and any fic requests :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sitting in an interrogation room at the Chicago Police Department was not anything new to Mickey, he’d done it more than enough times. But it had never felt like this before, never made his insides so queasy with anxiety. But then again, he had never had to sit and give a statement about how his father had killed his boyfriend.</p><p>Detective Sparkes was as lovely as Mandy had described, and equally as sympathetic Mickey found out when he was retelling his version of events. She was a tall, slim woman in her forties with a neat, auburn pixie cut and an air about her that made Mickey feel slightly at ease as they spoke.</p><p>“So I’m clear, your father didn’t know that you’re gay.” The detective asked Mickey as she read back through her notes.</p><p>Mickey nodded as he wiped at his nose with a tissue from the box that had been readily available for him when tears had begun to fall.</p><p>“And he had never met Jake before that night? Not as a friend of yours?”</p><p>“No, it was the first time Jake came over. We always played it safe and hung out at his or on the North Side because of Terry.” Mickey confirmed, feeling his stomach sink. Clearly, they were <em>not </em>safe enough or Mickey would not have found himself giving a statement about his old boyfriend’s murder.</p><p>His face must have shown that afterthought because Detective Sparkes spoke softly, “I’m sorry, I know this must be hard for you. You’re doing really well, Mickey. Your testimony will really help us get Terry.” She paused briefly before pressing on, “And you said this all took place at around eleven forty?”</p><p>Shrugging slightly and leaning against the table to rub his head, “I guess so. I heard Mandy come back from work at the Waffle House when we were in my room. Her shift finished at ten, and I think it’s fifteen minutes or somethin’ on the El back to our place. And me and Jake talked for maybe an hour about stupid shit before we… ya’ know, had sex.” The blue eyes shied away from the detective opposite him uncomfortably.</p><p>“And I apologise for the nature of this question, but could you estimate roughly how long you had intercourse for? Just to confirm the time before it’s submitted into evidence.”</p><p>Mickey felt his face blanch. He had just been asked by a cop to estimate how long his boyfriend was sticking it to him up the ass before Terry came in and beat the shit out of them. “Erm… maybe twenty minutes.” Mickey cleared his throat, “But wouldn’t you kinda’ have the time from the ambulance call?”</p><p>“We do,” Detective Sparkes confirmed, “but for E.W.T. to b-” seeing the baffled expression on Mickey’s face, the woman corrected her acronym: “For eyewitness testimony to be credible in court, we want to keep on saying that every piece of the puzzle fits together perfectly.” She continued as Mickey nodded slowly, “So, Mandy says she called the ambulance the minute Terry left, which was about fifteen minutes after she heard the incident begin, and we have records showing the ambulance arriving on scene at…” Detective Sparkes flicked back through her notepad to look for the exact time, “seven minutes past midnight. You saying approximately eleven forty fits in with the nine-one-one call, ambulance dispatch time, ambulance arrival time. We’re just constantly building up reasons why our story is the truth. Defence attorneys will look for holes such as times not adding up – it happens a lot in cases where the emergency services are called due to all aspects from their first call to on-scene times being tracked.” She must have noticed the worry in Mickey’s eyes because she backtracked slightly, “But like I said, that’s not a problem because your approximated time fits our timeline.”</p><p>After making one final check through her notepad, the detective looked up to the Milkovich boy, “Okay, that’s everything for today, Mickey. You did really well, you should feel proud of yourself.” She sent him a warm smile, “Now, we will submit this evidence and hopefully should get a date for a hearing in the next few weeks. You will need to attend it to give your statement. From here onwards, you will be dealing with the district attorney on the case, that’s D.A. Flores. Your sister does have her details if you have anything else to add in the meantime, but I will get her to reach out to you for you to be able to familiarise before the trial.”</p><p>Nodding meekly, Mickey stood to follow her out of the room to the entrance of the building, shaking her extended hand as she bid him farewell before hastily leaving. Once at home, allowing his tears to fall in their full magnitude, Mickey lay on his bed shaking, sobbing for the loss of Jake all over again.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Just as Ian was waiting for Kash and Linda to return, his afternoon having been quite relaxed up until three-thirty, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Wanting to check it but seeing a crowd of kids huddled at the refrigerator where the beers were stocked, Ian had to ignore it. He stood up and loudly called, “You guys need any help over there?” He had been a shoplifter (admittedly for food or essentials rather than beer), so he knew what the huddle of boys were doing. His shout startled them, and he heard a few of them whisper harshly.</p><p>Getting to his crutches, Ian made his way to stand at the end of the row of fridges, still being able to see the register and door from his peripheral as he stared at the group of kids, who looked as though they could barely be in high school.</p><p>“Look, first of all, you guys barely look old enough to even drink that shit. Second, none of the stuff in here is any good, you’re better to hit up the 7-Eleven, I hear their security guy just sits watching porn on his phone rather than looking at the monitors.” When the children stood frozen, staring at Ian in fear, he simply bellowed “Get the fuck out! Now. Before I call the cops.” And then the children were dropping a large bottle of some crappy cider Kash had bought that nobody seemed to buy. The good thing was that the bottle plastic so there was no loss, he could just pop it back in the refrigerator.</p><p>“Ian?” The door opening and Linda’s voice carrying through the store pulled Ian’s head from the refrigerator cabinet.</p><p>“Hey, back here!” Ian made a feeble attempt to wave his hand above the shelves, but simply ended up losing his balance on his crutches.</p><p>“What are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be on the register.” Linda spoke in a kindly manner as she shooed him away from the cabinets.</p><p>“Some kids were trying to gank that nasty, piss water cider Kash got, so I had to scare them a little. I was just putting the bottle back.” Ian explained, a slight shrug of his shoulders.</p><p>She nodded her appreciation before sending Ian on his way. “Okay. Well, I’m sorry we’re a little late. You get going. Thanks again!”</p><p>“No problem! I’ll see you on Wednesday,” he gave his bosses a nod and a smile as he made his way out of the store and began the limp back to Mickey’s house.</p><p>Only when he walked into the Milkovich home to see Mickey gnawing on his lip with a few stray tears on his cheeks and a soft mumbling of “You didn’t answer your phone,” did his mind flash back to the fact that his phone had gone off in the Kash and Grab and he had not answered it.  “You’re late, really late. I was worried.”</p><p>Sitting on the bed beside Mickey to pull him close, Ian shook his head, “I’m sorry. I had to stay late. I didn’t think-”</p><p>“It’s… I think talkin’ about Jake and then you bein’ late… I just worried.” Mickey mumbled out as he allowed himself to fall into Ian’s warmth.</p><p>Soothing a sniffling Mickey, Ian unlocked his phone to see four texts and three missed calls from his boyfriend. He hadn’t even felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (16:26): </strong>
  <em>Where are you?</em>
</p><p><strong>Mickey (16:30):</strong> <strong>MISSED CALL</strong></p><p><strong>Mickey (16:34):</strong> <em>Are you still coming over?</em></p><p><strong>Mickey (16:41):</strong> <strong>MISSED CALL</strong></p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (16:45):</strong>
  <em> Please just let me know you’re okay Ian…</em>
</p><p><strong>Mickey (16:49):</strong> <strong>MISSED CALL</strong></p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (16:52):</strong>
  <em> Ian!!!</em>
</p><p>He saw that the time on his phone currently showed <em>16:57</em> at the top of his screen.</p><p>“I’m so sorry! I- you know I wouldn’t have ignored you… it’s hard with the crutches because I can’t walk and text… and I wanted to get back to you but…” Ian sighed defeatedly, “I should have thought, should have checked before I left.”</p><p>As Mickey nodded his head softly and nuzzled into his boyfriend, Ian heard him let out a small “I love you, I just worry. But… I know it wasn’t deliberate.” Mickey said calmly, his breathing deep and slow, clearly trying to calm himself.</p><p>“Talk to me, tell me what you were thinking and feeling. I don’t want you to bottle shit up,” the ginger boy prompted</p><p>And then the boys laid back on the bed, Mickey encircled by his boyfriend’s arms. He explained that he had initially catastrophised that Ian had been attacked by Terry and he was never coming back, that a part of Mickey had been simultaneously angry and sad about Ian not answering his phone. Having had to relive the pain of losing Jake when he gave his statement earlier that morning, he admitted that his reactions were most likely more exaggerated than necessary due to the anxiety that giving his statement had heightened. And then he began to try and project on to himself, saying that Ian had done nothing and that it was his fault.</p><p>“It’s not. I knew today was going to be a hard day for you. I should have at least texted you to say that I was staying late, I’m sorry that I didn’t think.” Ian interjected, squeezing Mickey tightly to reiterate. He stretched his neck as a hand on Mickey’s chin pulled his lips closer to his. “I love you,” he pressed the words into Mickey’s lips as he stroked his thumb up the older boy’s jawline.</p><p>And that seemed to be enough to have Mickey turning within Ian’s hold to kiss him more hungrily, his tattooed hands reaching up to lace through Ian’s newly-cut hair.</p><p>“Mmm, hair looks good,” Mickey spoke between kisses, his hands feeling the unfamiliar tickle and prickle of Ian’s fade; “not much to pull on back here though,” he noted, bringing his hands up to run his fingers through the longer top which had been neatly quiffed before he had made a point of letting his fingers run amuck through the fresh locks.</p><p>“You always look good,” Ian returned as he moved his hands up under Mickey’s shirt, trailing from the slight smattering of hair above his waistband up to his pecs, where he began to tease about each of his nipples playfully. “And I’m sure I could find you something up front to pull on to make it up to you,” Ian chuckled lowly against the spot below Mickey’s ear that he let his tongue tease. The physical jerking of Mickey’s hips against his own and the moan that hummed through his boyfriend’s throat in response had Ian twitching in his pants. “Do that again,” Ian willed Mickey on, moving to pinch and pull at the shorter boy’s nipples as he obligingly thrust his crotch against Ian again.</p><p>The pair continued to kiss and grind against one another, tongues and teeth becoming more persistent as hands crept beneath pants. “I want you to…” Ian breathed out deep as Mickey’s hand had travelled around to grasp and knead at his toned behind.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>“Yeah?” Mickey bit his bottom lip in anticipation. Ian had a fucking amazing ass, and he wanted to fuck it so bad. Jake had never wanted to switch it up in the bedroom, but Ian’s eagerness to experiment and try all of the new things he had not experienced with a girl was such a turn-on.</p><p>The enthusiastic nod that Ian gave him was more than enough for Mickey to pull his hand out of Ian’s pants to pull his clothes off, and then his boyfriend’s swiftly after. It was as though the air in his room was vibrating with the want and the excitement. As quick as they were naked, Mickey was pushing Ian back on the bed and beginning to work his way from the top of Ian to the bottom, quite literally.</p><p>Mickey’s legs were on either side of Ian’s waist, feeing his boyfriend’s hard cock resting against his crack, feeling like such a tease as he kissed the man below him, his right hand going back to Ian’s hair whilst his left rubbed at his nipple, pulling moans from the lips that did things to him and straight into his own mouth.</p><p>“This fuckin’ hair, man,” he moaned as he pulled back from kissing the boy below him, sitting for a moment to look at just how good Ian looked when he was his true self. A sheen of sweat coated his entire body, and it seemed to increase the natural glow of eagerness and excitement that Ian was emitting. Those amazing, addictive, green eyes were full and blown, looking back and forth between Mickey’s own eyes and then down to his cock where it sat on display for him. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he sighed, feeling his stomach flip as he simply admired his boyfriend. It was stupid, just seeing Ian full of lust had such a power over Mickey.</p><p>“You gonna’ stare at me or fuck me?” Ian rasped.</p><p>At the same time, Mickey felt a slight knocking against his behind. “Are you…?”</p><p>“I mean, your dick is right there in front of my face, and you weren’t making a move to play with it any time soon, just staring at me like a love-sick puppy so…” Ian explained, not stopping his movement.</p><p>“You’re a sly motherfucker, Gallagher,” Mickey moaned, using the pet name for his boyfriend that he reserved for special occasions. “That’s so fuckin’ hot, you jerkin’ your dick against my ass. If it weren’t for the fact that with you I wanna’ be vers as hell, I’d fucking jump on your dick and ride you home.”</p><p>“Oh, man, that sounds good…” Ian drawled lowly, licking his lips as he stared Mickey in the eye.</p><p>“You pussyin’ out on me?” Mickey joked, his face showing Ian, though, that there would be no hard feelings if he did change his mind. When he saw the younger boy shake his head eagerly, Mickey decided then and there that he needed to work fast and get in that perfect ass beneath him. “Stop that shit before you make me blow my load just watchin’ your porn star ass get off,” the Milkovich boy chided, swatting Ian’s hand away. The ginger obliged, pulling both hands behind his head as he laid back to allow Mickey to get back to his ministrations.</p><p>Getting up on his knees, Mickey shuffled himself back, reaching behind to take a hold of his boyfriend’s cock and brushing it between his cheeks teasingly, rubbing it against his hole for a moment as he watched how Ian’s face twisted as he jerked his hips up desperately. That was enough of that. Mickey then backed down farther, propping himself between Ian’s legs and spreading them apart before he leant down and began to work Ian open with his tongue, slowly flicking his tongue over the wanton hole teasingly, causing Ian to hiss out in need.</p><p>“Impatient little shit,” Mickey mumbled before pressing his tongue wholly into Ian hungrily, tasting all of his boyfriend as he listened to the amazing moans the ginger boy let out. Feeling a tap on his head, he looked up to see Ian shaking his head. “Can’t handle it?” He teased, his voice low and cocky.</p><p>“Won’t last,” Ian hissed out as Mickey returned for one last, wide lick over his hole. “<em>Fuck!</em>”</p><p>A low chuckle rumbled through Mickey as he sat up and sucked on one of his fingers to continue working open his boyfriend, instructing him to look in the bedside drawer for the bottle of lube in there as he did.</p><p>“Another, Mick. More,” Ian moaned, grinding his hips against Mickey’s digit.</p><p>Who was he to deny a needy bottom? Taking the lube from Ian, he pulled his finger out, eliciting a whine from Ian, and lubricating three fingers, immediately pressing two into the whining boy that he loved so. He scissored and hooked his fingers, biting his lower lip as he watched Ian writhe in enjoyment. There was no easing in the third finger, it was just straight in there and stretching Ian open as he fanned his fingers apart firmly. He knew that, when it came to fingering, his boyfriend could hack it, so he didn’t have to treat Ian like a porcelain doll. But his girth was another question, so Mickey did make a point to try and put a lot of pressure behind his fanned fingers to stretch the boy out in preparation.</p><p>“I’m good, Mick, I’m fuckin- <em>ahhh</em>, fuck you! Get your fingers off my prostate and your dick on it,” Ian spat, his voice low and demanding as he had snapped his head up to scowl at Mickey for the unnecessarily teasing touch.</p><p>And Ian saying exactly what he wanted, his phrasing lewd and sharp, had Mickey twitching eagerly and pulling his sticky fingers out to oblige the redhead. Taking the discarded bottle of lube from the other side of the bed, Mickey made a point of being overly generous with it, knowing that, whilst he wasn’t quite Ian’s nine inches, he was still a lot to fucking take for an anal virgin.</p><p>Mickey quickly wiped his sticky hand on his discarded boxers before kneeling between Ian’s legs, lining himself up and letting his head just sit against Ian’s hole teasingly. The redhead looked at him with lust and want and licked his lips eagerly as Mickey teased him. Before the younger boy could boss him into fucking him, Mickey pressed the tip in and waited, watching Ian’s face adjust to the intrusion. “You okay?” He asked softly, a hand rubbing tenderly at Ian’s right hipbone as he watched him biting his lip hard.</p><p>Ian nodded softly, “Yeah. Just… wow, it feels good. Big.” When Mickey grinned at Ian’s admission, the boy below him nodded, “You can carry on.” Mickey was tentative as he pressed in slowly, edging into his boyfriend in what felt like millimetre increments. “Holy <em>fuck</em>…” Ian gasped out breathlessly as Mickey bottomed out, felling their hips sit flush. He leant down to kiss Ian softly, taking his mind from the pain of the intrusion.</p><p>“I love you,” Mickey whispered into Ian’s parted lips before pressing his tongue into his mouth to taste his boyfriend and keep his focus as he shifted his hips slightly to try and make room in Ian’s insanely tight hole. “You feel so fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ tight and warm and just… amazin’.”</p><p>Ian nodded into the kiss, nipping Mickey’s lip lightly before telling him he could move. And slowly, Mickey retreated, pulling his cock out right to the ridge before pressing it in a little faster. The look of euphoria on Ian’s face was enough for Mickey to press in and out at a more persistent speed, feeling Ian’s muscles relax around him as the redhead let his head hang back in pleasure.</p><p>“Jesus, man, you feel so good, and it’s been so long doing this for me that I don’t know how long I-”</p><p>Ian interrupted Mickey by pulling him down to his lips roughly and mumbling between kissing “Just… finish me… fucking good.” He opened his eyes slowly, and the blue ones asked for permission, which was promptly given: “None of these pussy thrusts.”</p><p>That was enough to have Mickey thrusting into his boyfriend hastily, feeling his balls slapping against Ian’s cheeks audibly. Feeling himself getting close, that familiar coil in his own testicles sending shivers up his spine, Mickey reached between them to jerk Ian through to the mutual orgasm that ended with Mickey collapsing on to Ian’s stomach, feeling the stickiness of cum and sweat combined squelching between them.</p><p>“We can definitely do that again,” Ian crooned as he stroked his fingers through the sweaty, black hair of the sated boy on top of him.</p><p>“Definitely,” was all Mickey was able to muster as he panted heavily against Ian’s chest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: mention of violence/murder, anxiety</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Do I have to call him Professor Lip?” Mickey quipped, earning a snort from his big spoon.</p><p>Ian’s lips pulled up into a smirk as he spoke, “I was more thinking Professor Asshole.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had taken a little convincing on Ian’s part, but Mickey had come to agree with his boyfriend that starting at Hank’s on Wednesday was better than throwing himself straight in on Tuesday. That allowed the boys to lay in bed together contentedly for a large chunk of the morning, awaiting the other two Milkovich siblings to leave before getting up and preparing for the day. </p><p>Their day started with Ian making pancakes for breakfast, and Mickey had to admit that having Ian in his house, acting domesticated was a hell of a turn-on. Maybe it was because Ian made the pancakes shirtless, or because he hummed and danced lightly along to the radio and looked comfortably at ease. It was refreshing to see Ian feel so relaxed, not hiding beneath hoodies and avoiding eye contact at the fault of the scars that littered his forearms.</p><p>“Jesus, Annie, you don’t gotta’ try and tap dance your way home just ‘cause you got two workin’ legs again,” Mickey laughed as Ian practically bounced down the sidewalk beside him, a grin plastered across his lips. When the taller boy halted to a stop to frown down at him, Mickey bit his lip trying not to laugh before Ian’s grin returned and he allowed himself to accentuate his walking even more, making a point of taking longer strides in spite of Mickey’s shorter legs. Ian had laughed as he had heard the older boy muttering about him being ‘a long-ass, leggy motherfucking asshole’ whilst increasing his pace to keep up with said leggy boy.</p><p>Walking back into Lincoln Grove High School was like some weird <em>Back to The Future</em> shit for Mickey. He knew it was no easier for Ian, who was walking in with the reputation of a lifetime to the classmates he had left behind during the emergence of his illness taking full swing.</p><p>After Mickey had told Ian all about the magic Perry had worked for him and all Hank’s were going to do for him, Ian had mentioned that they should go down to the school the next day. Mickey could get information on the G.E.D. and Ian could speak to administration about whether he would have enough credit to move on to his junior year, or if he would have to retake his sophomore year. At the time, they had both felt very grown-up discussing it like serious adults, and now the pair felt almost as small as they had when they had each awoken in a hospital bed unaware of what had led to them ending up there. Ironically, the ultimate cause for what had put them in those beds was also what had led to them being at the school both trying to salvage some form of an education.</p><p>As Mickey was given all the relevant information and paperwork to enrol on a course of classes to prepare him for the G.E.D., he could feel the tightness in his stomach that was a knot made of anxiety and excitement. Whilst Mickey knew he was taking the right steps towards creating a future for himself, there was that constant uncertainty within him that made him wonder if he was capable of earning that future for himself, but even more so if he was entitled to that future. Did he deserve a future like he was hoping to make when the only future that lay ahead of Jake was decomposition at Mickey’s fault?</p><p><em>Mickey, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Jake,</em> Perry’s voice echoed about Mickey’s skull, trying to pull him from the negative thoughts. He closed his eyes as he began to work on his rational thoughts that his therapist and he had worked on.</p><p>
  <em>I didn’t kill Jake.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I didn’t make Terry do it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m not to blame for Jake’s death.</em>
</p><p>Repeating the three phrases a few times, Mickey allowed himself to revel in the fact that not only was he not to blame, but that he was also working to get Terry put away for Jake.</p><p>“Mickey?” The administrator that he was speaking to clearing her throat and saying his name pulled the anxious boy from his own mind.</p><p>“Sorry, I spaced out a little,” Mickey mumbled, drawing an almost-subtle eye-roll from the brunette woman. “Anxiety.” Mickey felt obligated to explain what the woman behind the desk believed to be ignorance from him.</p><p>“There’s nothing to be anxious about. Over seventy percent of folk pass the G.E.D.; and you only need to get a one-forty-five on each test to pass, that’s about sixty to sixty-five percent of questions correct.” The woman explained, trying to offer Mickey comfort.</p><p>Sure, she made it sound easy when she put it like that, but Mickey’s anxiety wasn’t over passing or failing. It was completely separate, but he wouldn’t explain that to her. Those sorts of thoughts were reserved for Mickey’s head, therapists, and sometimes Ian or Mandy dependent on the nature.</p><p>He nodded weakly, attempting to return the smile he had received, but his lips were unable to meet the extension that hers had though. Accepting the package of paperwork, Mickey made his way outside of the school to sit on the front steps and have a smoke, needing the nicotine to fog his mind, blinding the way for any negative thoughts that may try to make their way to the forefront.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>As the administrator sat and looked into what Ian had missed during his six-week absence from school, he knotted his fingers in his lap. Six weeks was a long time, Ian knew that. Since being in the hospital, Ian’s understanding of time and what really was or was not ‘a long time’ had improved greatly. A movie longer than two hours had previously seemed ‘too long’ to Ian, but now that was a piece of cake to handle. But half a term of school it turned out was a lot!</p><p>“So, I’ve gone off your record and it seems that, before your absence, you were holding steady ‘B’s across your classes, apart from English where you maintained ‘A’s. It’s possible you may be able to pick up enough credit to pass through your sophomore year. But it won’t be easy.” The blonde lady turned away from her screen to gauge Ian’s expression, being met by a bitten lip and a furrowed brow.</p><p>“What can I do?” Ian pleaded, his eyes desperate. He couldn’t handle retaking his entire year for the sake of six weeks, it seemed futile. If he had failed the previous terms, it would be understandable, but he was a smart kid. He had had to be when he and Lip had looked into what it took to get into West Point. Lip’s study help all year was the only reason his grades this academic year had been so good.</p><p>“Due to the circumstances of your absence, we can apply a little more leniency than if you had simply spent the time skipping. With your good grades, provided you familiarise yourself with the additional content covered during those six weeks before school starts up again, an essay or test for each class will suffice. If you’re happy for that, I will contact your teachers and have them each set their method of making up the credit for you to have completed by your return.”</p><p>Green eyes stared at the woman widely, Ian’s head spinning. “Holy shit…” He whispered softly.</p><p>She slid her thick-rimmed glasses up into her hair, holding the blonde locks back, “I understand this is difficult, but the time constraints will really prove your dedication. And being able to make credit back like this is, in such a short period of time and after such a difficult experience, it’s really good on college application essays. If you manage this – which your record suggests you can – then you will really put yourself ahead of the game.”</p><p>Taking a deep breath and sitting forward to rest his head in his hands, Ian closed his eyes, processing the difficulty of what awaited him. “I can do it,” he said into his palms before sitting up and nodding his head. “When can I get the materials?”</p><p>“I’ll print you out all of the teacher’s notes for the classes that took place from your absence now so you can take them away with you. Any essays or tests to be completed will be here tomorrow afternoon for you to pick up. Is that okay?” The woman before him smiled a smile that beamed elation and encouragement. She clicked a few things on her computer before the large printer on the other side of the small office whirred to life.</p><p>“I’m working tomorrow, can I get someone else to pick them up for me?”</p><p>Her glasses slipped down her forehead slightly as she nodded in agreement, “Sure, just make sure they come and speak to me, Angie.” Ian nodded his thanks. “It’ll probably take me a good thirty minutes to get all the materials printed, so if you want to wait for a moment, you can take this first week of notes for your English class to take a look at whilst you wait.”</p><p>“That would be great, thank you.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “Do you have a notepad I could possibly have so I can make notes? I don’t have anything on me,” Ian felt slightly embarrassed, looking away from her.</p><p>The noise of her opening and closing drawers filled the silence between them before she placed an A4 notepad and a few pens on the desk for him. “Of course, here. And once the printer beeps, that’s the end of that document printing for you to take.”</p><p>“Thank you so much!” Ian made his way to the printer, waiting patiently for the beep before taking the sheets and heading outside to Mickey, leaving a call of “I’ll be back in half an hour,” behind him for Angie.</p><p>“So?” Mickey turned in his seat on the front steps of the school to look at his boyfriend for what he hoped would be a good sign. Ian sat down on the steps beside the older boy, briefly explaining what he had been told by Angie before lighting up a cigarette as he began to read through the notes he had been given.</p><p>Ian was pleasantly surprised to find that his first week of English classes had been a variety of different summaries of the texts they had read the week before and then a pop-quiz on the literary techniques that had been used. The pop-quiz was included in his packet of information, and whilst it had the answers in it, Ian felt confident that, as he read through the questions, he understood why the answers were what they were.</p><p>Whilst he had scribbled a few minor notes on the notepad, with Mickey happily sat beside him basking in the warm summer rays, he realised that he hadn’t really missed much that week of English. He supposed that many of the weeks would be revising works previously covered with only a few new things for him to study with Lip. He knew that that may not be the case for all of his subjects, but suspected it would be for his more subjective classes.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Later on at the Milkovich home that evening, Ian sat on Mickey’s bed with piles of paperwork surround him. They were clipped into sections and then stacked in to separate sections, the significance of which Ian had explained to him as he had done it. Mickey had mentioned about how he hoped studying for his G.E.D. wouldn’t be as bad, but Ian had said that there was only so much paperwork because it was make-up work and he was having to work from full lesson plans rather than student notes, so he was having to derive them himself.</p><p>“Essentially, all of this junk will be on the chalkboard or coming out of the teacher’s mouth rather than you having to read through it,” Ian reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to Mickey’s nose.</p><p>“I’m never gonna’ see you with all this, am I?” Mickey had asked, his voice was intended to be playful though deep down the thought made it slightly sadder.</p><p>Ian shook his head, “You will, you just may have to deal with me studying,” he apologised, looking at Mickey with an expression of annoyance and frustration.</p><p>He knew his boyfriend had to buck up in order be able to start his junior year in September, but damn if it wasn’t going to be difficult on them.</p><p>“I mean, maybe I could study with ya’,” he mumbled out, his eyes darting back and forth between his boyfriend’s eyes and a poster on his wall. “Get on top of this G.E.D. shit. This stuff is gonna’ be on the test, right?”</p><p>Ian sat thoughtfully before nodding, “I guess it will, yeah. That could work.”</p><p>With that agreed between the pair of them, Ian began to explain the World History notes he was going through for his Social studies class, telling Mickey all about true Nazism and Hitler’s reign. Of course, Mickey made the process a lot more fun by interjecting occasionally to supplement in some extra bits and bobs about the Nazism and white supremacy that existed in juvie. That evening, the pair covered three weeks of lessons plans, also learning about the Second World War and The Cold War.</p><p>Mickey had decided that he would not take notes on the things that he studied with Ian, instead just focusing on trying to absorb the knowledge. He would go to classes to teach him all of this later on in the year, but, for now, it was a way to build his knowledge back up whilst spending time with his smarty-pants boyfriend.</p><p>“Oh, Lip texted to say that he would pretty much teach us the Geometry and Chemistry classes.” Ian piped up after checking a text that had buzzed through on his phone as the pair lay in bed talking aimlessly. Mickey was the small spoon that night, so he had to turn his neck at quite an angle to silently query the information that Ian had just given him. “Oh, Math and Chemistry are the ones I knew would be a little harder to work out myself, so I texted Lip for help and he said we could do it before he went back to college.” Ian explained, “It’s the methods and stuff that confuse me.”</p><p>“Do I have to call him Professor Lip?” Mickey quipped, earning a snort from his big spoon.</p><p>Ian’s lips pulled up into a smirk as he spoke, “I was more thinking Professor Asshole.”</p><p>Once their laughter had subsided, the pair curled up to go to sleep, both preparing for the day of work ahead of them. To say that Mickey was excited for his first day at Hank’s was an understatement. It made him fidgety with the thought that he would be doing something useful with his life. Even as he heard the sound of Ian’s deep breathing, felt it on his neck, he lay awake thinking. He wouldn’t be a career criminal like Terry. Gone were the days of drug runs or filing serial numbers from guns. Mickey was going to get his G.E.D. and become an engineer and make a good, decent living. It would be a long road, unlike Ian’s crash-course schooling that would take place in the following three weeks to make up for his lost months, but Mickey would gradually repair the damage that had been done over his lost years.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, reference to death/murder</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mickey (21:02): Text me the topics when you start them and I’ll make sure there are some nuggets of wisdom for you to see at the end of them! Can do! Maybe you can hear how good a job I do at taking care of it…</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>New chapter! Sorry for the delays that may come, a lot of personal stuff going on, but I'm trying to stay regular where I can.</p><p>Head over to my tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates on writing, spoilers, and how I proofed this chapter to find an entire page written in the present tense for no creative reason (I think I was very drunk!)</p><p>As per, I love your feedback so hit me up!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whilst much of Mickey’s day would be spent doing paperwork and signing contracts, Ian was sure that it would be better than his. Ian had been awake early due to an excited Mickey thrashing around his room with excitement as he got ready, so he was tired as hell. But he had been productive with his early start, blowing his boyfriend into oblivion in the shower for luck before heading to the Gallagher home to run through a Chemistry lesson with Lip.</p><p>The Kash and Grab was dead. Ian almost dreaded when the Kash and Grab had quiet spells because it meant having to squeeze in some studying. It wasn’t that Ian didn’t enjoy learning, but more that this current learning came with a lot of pressure. He had known that making up this credit would kill him (when he had explained his workload to Lip, his brother had laughed before Ian had said he was serious), but he was already more than bored of studying. At least in class, having a teacher present the material, he felt more engaged. This catching up was a big test of his motivation more than anything.</p><p>By the end of the week, Ian’s motivation was wearing thin. Maybe it was because, after receiving his folder of make-up work courtesy of Lip and Mandy, he felt that he couldn’t do it without holing himself away from the world for the next two weeks. Or until he was on top of the work. Whichever came first.</p><p>So, on Friday, Ian found himself sitting down beside his boyfriend on the Milkovich porch, cigarettes billowing smoke between them, explaining to the older boy that he needed to limit their contact until he felt more on top of his workload. Watching the way Mickey’s lips pulled down sadly, how his eyes closed softly, almost defeatedly, felt like clenching his own heart and squeezing it until it could handle the pain no longer.</p><p>He placed a hand on Mickey’s knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze as he spoke; “Don’t worry, this isn’t me breaking up with you, or even doing that break bullshit that they do on <em>F.R.I.E.N.D.S</em>, it’s just me getting on top of this school shit. Text me. Any time. I’ll answer. If I don’t answer before you go to bed, call me. And I’m not, like, saying I’m not gonna’ see you. I’m just saying it won’t be as often for a couple weeks.”</p><p>Mickey nodded slowly, biting his lower lip as he thumbed at it. “Kick this school shit’s ass,” he mumbled as he all but threw himself against Ian’s chest, hugging him tightly.</p><p>Inhaling Mickey’s smell deeply, Ian sighed into the dark hair before briefly kissing him, already feeling slightly conscious of the fact that they were sat in broad daylight like they were. It wasn’t shame, just fear and uncertainty. Ian knew that anything that wasn’t heterosexuality in this neighbourhood was dangerous, and that was just one more reason why Ian kept the extent of his relationship with Mickey behind closed doors and seemingly platonic by all appearances when in public. And his boyfriend respected that, something Ian was hugely grateful for.</p><p>“Don’t bottle anything up, Mick. If you’re really struggling, you call me, okay? You call me and we fix it.” Ian’s eyes were serious as he stared into the almost-watery blue ones that sat beside him. Upon receiving a small nod and a slightly broken noise which was almost muted in Mickey’s throat, Ian stood to go. “I love you,” he whispered between them before getting up to walk away from Mickey before the hurt in his eyes broke Ian’s heart beyond forgiveness.</p><p>Ian scrunched his eyes as he walked away from the Milkovich home, knowing that he was making a sensible short-term change in his life. And he wasn’t dumping Mickey, he had been honest about that, but if walking away from his boyfriend knowing full well that their discussion had left him feeling upset didn’t feel like the world’s worst break-up right now then he didn’t know what it felt like. Like a hand restricting his airway enough to make it difficult to breathe but not so much that he would suffocate. Or perhaps the way an amputee had phantom pains; Mickey and he weren’t broken up, but he felt the pain as though they were. The pair had never been apart for more than maybe three or four days, so two weeks quite literally felt like losing a limb.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Mickey’s first few days at work had been good. The team had been very welcoming at Hank’s; he had filed his paperwork to be enrolled on the classes for the G.E.D. when the school term started up; he had heard no more from the police to say there had been an issue with his statement. So, for now, being able to be blissfully ignorant regarding Terry’s case was enough for Mickey to feel at ease slightly.</p><p>And his thirty-minute meeting with his therapist, Doctor Bird, had been a case of seeing how he was feeling and how he was adjusting. A big focus had been placed on how he felt about making his statement earlier in the week and how the thought of testifying in the trial felt. Explaining his fear over the trial, seeing Terry, the possibility of losing, it made him feel sick, but he was reassured that that was a more-than-normal response and completely legitimate worries to have over the matter. Other than that, his therapist was very happy with his adjustment so far and felt no need to alter his medication, something Mickey was grateful for.</p><p>But then speaking with Ian on that Friday evening felt like a punch to the gut. It felt worse than being winded. It had stopped him in his tracks. As Ian had walked away, it had felt as though the growing distance between them would never stop, no matter how nearby he knew Ian would be.</p><p>Once his boyfriend had been swallowed up whole by the horizon, Mickey pulled his phone out for two reasons. He shakily moved his fingers across the screen as he sent a text initially.</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (18:03): </strong>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>He didn’t wait for a text back, then swiping across Mandy’s name to call his sister in preparation for the next two weeks.</p><p>“Hey, Mickey, is everything okay?” Mandy answered the phone with concern in her voice, knowing that Mickey was more of a texter than a caller.</p><p>Humming down the phone vacantly, Mickey tried not to hang up on his sister as he felt his phone vibrate against his cheek twice with notifications. “Are you busy?”</p><p>“Need me to come back? I can be there in ten,” Mandy’s voice wavered on worry.</p><p>Mickey nodded silently for a moment before grunting into the handset slightly, “Please… just need to keep out of my head.” He tried to explain as he ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep drag on the cigarette that was perched between his lips. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after listening to Mandy ramble briefly about just getting dressed and that then she’d be on her way.</p><p>“No, Mickey, don’t you ever fucking apologise for asking me for help. Never.” The tone that carried through the phone was firm, fierce, and full of that Milkovich affection and love that is prominently shown by a strong defensiveness and need to protect. “Need me to stay on the phone?” Mandy asked after receiving a small hum in response from her brother.</p><p>“No. I’m just gonna’ roll a joint or somethin’ to keep me busy. Thanks,” his appreciation was poured into that one last word.</p><p>“You better make it a fat one,” Mandy laughed down the phone. “Ten minutes, okay?”</p><p>“Okay.” And then Mickey hung up the phone to look at the notifications that had buzzed through.</p><p><strong>Ian (18:05):</strong> <em>I love you too, Mick. Don’t think that this is me saying I love you any less, it’s me saying that I love you so much that I get less work done because I want to focus on you instead of the work. And it’s not me saying I won’t see you at all during these two weeks, just that it’ll be way less until I get on top of this. But I love you. A lot. I’ll speak to you later</em></p><p><strong>Ian (18:06):</strong> <em>If you ever doubt that at all, just text or call me and I’ll tell you until I’m blue in the face</em></p><p>Mickey let out a small laugh at the winking kissy-face emoji that Ian had put at the end of his second text. He liked that. Definitely more manly than some stupid ‘X’s. He reread the texts twice before allowing himself to smile, fully absorbing the words as he stood to go and roll that joint he had all but promised his sister.</p><p>Keeping his hands busy had always been something that had helped Mickey level himself. Some people liked to do the things where they counted down the five senses around them, but Mickey preferred to focus on his hands. Next to his mind, his hands were the most dangerous thing. His hands hurt him as well as other people, so they were always a focus. And sometimes the task he would end up using to focus his hands would focus his mind a little. Not rolling a joint though, he was far too experienced in it for it to <em>not </em>be second-nature or something he could almost do with his eyes closed.</p><p>Instead, he allowed himself to ruminate over the words of Ian’s text, hoping to mask the voices of his many anxieties that yelled about how he wasn’t good enough for Ian or the truth. The reassuring sentences from his boyfriend bounced back and forth between his ears, slipping from his lips silently sometimes. And if he closed his eyes, he could hear Ian saying them to him, whispering them into his ear as he held him from behind and rested that chin that may as well have been carved from marble on to his shoulder. Shivers ran up his spine at the thought of Ian’s breath tickling hotly across his ear.</p><p>“Hey,” Mandy’s soft voice pulled Mickey from his lull, “wanna’ get that beauty lit and tell me what’s eating you?” Her hand sat reassuringly on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze when he didn’t immediately reply.</p><p>Nodding lightly, Mickey hummed in response as he stood to follow his sister out to the porch.</p><p>“You didn’t use my ashtray I noticed,” his sister joked as she knocked her shoulder against his, jerking her head at the small pile of cigarette butts that sat at the foot of the porch stairs.</p><p>“Didn’t wanna’ kill the flowers,” he mumbled, playing on the fact that Mandy’s ‘ashtray’ that had become a part of the Milkovich household during hers and Iggy’s big cleanse of the house after Terry’s arrest was actually just a giant terracotta plant pot that Iggy had stolen from a North Side garden.</p><p>“I’ll let it slide this once.” Mandy’s smile was playful as she picked the discarded butts up to throw them into the pot, allowing Mickey to take some heavy pulls on the joint, hoping to relax his mind a little. “So, what happened?”</p><p>Mandy sat patiently as Mickey explained what had taken place in the same spot shortly before, showed her the texts, and explained the worries that bounced about his thick skull. She was a good listener when it came to her brother’s issues because she had made a point to research Borderline Personality Disorder and speak directly with his therapist at the hospital to make sure that she had fully understood the ways of acting and thinking that were like Mickey’s trademark. The irrationality, the fear of abandonment, the innate catastrophising that took place when Mickey felt that he was being abandoned, or even managed to overthink his way into thinking such. This was one of those situations, but it was still valid. Those feelings and fear felt real and justifiable to Mickey, and so it meant that Mandy treated them as such.</p><p>“It’s hard…” she began, popping her purple lips as she thought how to phrase what she was going to say – an important skill when talking to Mickey in an episode. “The way you guys met meant that you were basically attached at the hip, and the nature of the place you were in and the things you experienced… you’re co-dependent almost. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing, just difficult when things like Ian’s school shit come and get in the way of that.”</p><p>Mickey looked at his hands, eagerly awaiting the joint’s return to them once Mandy handed it back. When serious talks like this took place, Mickey always felt small and weak, tending to avoid eye contact and minimalise his engagement in the conversations unless necessary.</p><p>As if reading her brother’s mind, Mandy’s darkly-painted nails were before Mickey’s eyes and extending the joint towards him. “But you’ve got those texts. And you’ve got Ian at the end of the phone any time you’re worried. You just gotta’ be strong and remind yourself that Ian is only doing this to get shit done, he’s not doing it to avoid you or anything.”</p><p>Mickey nodded slowly, absorbing what his older sister had said and knowing that she would only ever tell him the truth. Never had Mandy lied to him; she had occasionally omitted certain truths in order to protect him (such as their father’s arrest and Jake’s case whilst he had been in the hospital), but she had never told him anything dishonest. He trusted her with his life – hell, for a long time, she had been the reason that he was still alive to have one – and sometimes she was just that reassurance that he needed.</p><p>Much like when he had been in hospital and had known nothing about Ian’s state after Tyler and Henry had attacked him, merely that he was stable, his monitor at the time had written that Ian was okay on his bandaged arm as a reminder of the fact. His sister sitting next to him and saying that Ian wasn’t leaving him did the same thing. Both hers and Ian’s voices would amble about his mind as reassurance of the fact that everything was okay.</p><p>With the combined comfort of weed and his sister subduing the anxious whispers, combating them to some degree for the time being, he allowed himself to relax on the couch as Mandy got to work making a chicken pasta dish for them.</p><p>“Smells good in here,” Iggy declared as he walked through the door to see Mickey and Mandy sat on the couch cross-legged with bowls of pasta in their laps as the TV blared out a suspenseful tune.</p><p>Through a half-chewed mouthful of pasta, Mandy garbled out an almost-understandable “There’s a bowl in the microwave,” before going back to her chewing, her eyes not drawing from the thriller movie that the pair sat watching.</p><p>The sound of the microwave powering up and heating Iggy’s food could be heard, causing Milkovich girl to groan and lean across the sofa to stab the button on the remote that increased the volume.</p><p>“Clean your ears out, bitch!” Iggy’s voice and a chuckle, which was accompanied by Mickey’s own shortly after, carried through from the kitchen.</p><p>“<em>Shut up,</em> ass-face!” Mandy almost growled, sending a middle finger over her shoulder blindly, unaware of if her older brother saw it or not. “Ugh, <em>Jesus</em>,” she groaned when Iggy walked in to squeeze himself between the pair on the sofa, making a show of wiggling his hips to make room for himself, before settling to eat his food.</p><p>“What we watchin’?” The eldest Milkovich whispered to Mickey, eyes focused on shovelling food into his mouth as quickly as possible.</p><p>“<em>Split</em>. Dude’s got multiple personalities and kidnapped some chicks,” Mickey responded as he placed his empty bowl on the coffee table, making sure to leave enough space for his feet to comfortably occupy a spot on it.</p><p>Mickey had missed this. Being able to just chill and do something normal with his siblings rather than going on ‘beer runs’ that saw convenience stores being robbed, or ‘running errands’ which meant shuttling cocaine or guns across the South Side to Terry’s buyers. He couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had simply sat and allowed themselves to act like typical siblings and bond over legal activities.</p><p>As he smiled lightly to himself over the normality of the three of them perched on the couch and focused on the movie, he felt his phone vibrate twice from its position in his pants pocket. It would be a complete lie for Mickey to say that he wasn’t filled with excitement at what those vibrations could possibly hold.</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (20:58):</strong>
  <em> Still love you. Also miss you. This school shit sucks, but I’ve already done one of the assignments and am gonna try and get some more of these history lessons done. Won’t be as exciting without Professor Milkovich’s tidbits of knowledge. Or his ass. Hope you’re taking care of that ass for me! Let me know if you need to talk later on, I’ll be working until about 10.30 and up until 11</em>
</p><p>The second vibration was a picture message taken from above showing Ian cross-legged on his bed at the Gallagher home, surrounded by papers as he looked up to where he held the phone and gave his best puppy dog eyes. Well, that was definitely getting set as Mickey’s home and lock screen. He hadn’t realised how much seeing the picture had made him smile until Iggy had nudged him in the side with his elbow and said, “You’re whipped, Mick.”</p><p>“We haven’t tried that yet actually,” was all the response – and unwanted imagery – Mickey graced his brother with before responding to Ian’s text.</p><p><strong>Mickey (21:02):</strong> <em>Text me the topics when you start them and I’ll make sure there are some nuggets of wisdom for you to see at the end of them! Can do! Maybe you can hear how good a job I do at taking care of it…</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, overthinking, implied suicidal thoughts, drug use</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mickey didn’t open his eyes as he spoke, hoping to maintain the relaxed façade that hid the fact that he so desperately wanted to plead until Ian stayed. </p><p>“Sold,” Ian chuckled, raising his hand in the air like he was bidding at an auction, “to the gentleman in the back with the best ass on the South Side.”</p><p>“Can’t buy yourself,” Mickey responded before pulling his boyfriend impossibly closer and trying to bring the comforter up higher with his leg.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay, I'll just skulk in the corner! </p><p>Anywho, new one for all of you - enjoy ad let me know what you thought.</p><p>As per, my tumblr for updates, ramblings, one-shots (and just because I'm pure hilarious!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After finishing his lessons on The American Civil War, Ian lit up a cigarette and allowed himself to glance at his phone. He had to laugh as he looked at the exchange between him and Mickey.</p><p><strong>Mickey (21:02):</strong> <em>Text me the topics when you start them and I’ll make sure there are some nuggets of wisdom for you to see at the end of them! Can do! Maybe you can hear how good a job I do at taking care of it…</em></p><p>
  <strong>Ian (21:04):</strong>
  <em> Professor Milkovich! Are you propositioning me in exchange for extra credit? ;)</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (21:05):</strong>
  <em> I mean you always excel in my classes mr. Gallagher! Which class next?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (21:06): </strong>
  <em>Good to know! Rise of Mussolini and fascism… Speak later</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (21:13): </strong>
  <em>So I googled that Mussolini ass and I mean that dude had way too many shitty opinions. Should’ve put a muzzle on him (yeah I know it’s muzzle but that’s the joke)</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (21:16): </strong>
  <em>Dude was a dictator. I think that’s code for dick-taker. Like dude was a serious fucking fag</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (21:55):</strong>
  <em> I’m sure the muzzle joke would have been better in person, sure I would have laughed! And I read all of those lesson plans and not one of them mentioned him being gay, quite the opposite actually. Dude made it a crime!</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (21:57): </strong>
  <em>Just walking around with an ass as perfect and delicious as yours is a crime</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (21:57):</strong>
  <em> Brown nose, you just wanna fuck again! Anyway, back to work if I want to be on time for my extracurriculars ;)</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (21:58): </strong>
  <em>What next?</em>
</p><p><strong>Ian (22:44):</strong> <em>Just finished the Civil War. You still up?</em></p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (22:47): </strong>
  <em>That’s an easy one. Don’t even need google to tell you that there’s a civil war going on between my ass and your dick!</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (22:48): </strong>
  <em>We’re not in a civil war…</em>
</p><p>And then Ian’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, Mickey’s name flashing across the screen. Like a flustered teenager being approached by their crush, Ian’s heart fluttered. It wasn’t even like it was due to the nature of the upcoming conversation that excited Ian, it was just the thought of hearing Mickey’s voice.</p><p>Hearing his boyfriend’s voice was that reminder that he wasn’t alone. No matter what the world tried to throw at him, no matter how much he felt distanced from his family and their neurotypical ways, listening to his boyfriend made him feel supported and accepted. The low husk of the older boy’s tone felt like an embrace, like a warmth that encompassed him in a safe cocoon away from whatever troubles drifted between his ears.</p><p>“Fuck, man, gonna’ be a civil war between my hand and my ass soon if you don’t start talkin’…” Mickey half-moaned down the phone, the gruff undertone making Ian’s blood head south.</p><p>Running a hand through his hair, Ian stood up from his bed, the wall fixture at the side of his bed the only source of light among his sleeping brothers. “<em>Shit</em>,” he mumbled once out of the room, trying to make his legs carry him down the stairs quick enough as he spoke, “I… just let me get alone.”</p><p>A laugh passed through the phone as Ian managed to close himself in the downstairs bathroom, pulling down his sweatpants as Mickey spoke, “You alone now? You wanna’ hear about how hard my dick is right now? ‘Cause it’s real fuckin’ hard, man.”</p><p>“Hard enough to fuck me with?” Ian asked as he bit his lip, slowly rubbing his growing cock to full mast. “Or would you need me to get on my knees and make it hard?” Hearing the long, low moan that his boyfriend let out at the mention of him getting on his knees for him had Ian biting his lip excitedly.</p><p>“Mmm, Gallagher, got me so hard, man. But I guess gettin’ on your knees couldn’t hurt. How would that work then?”</p><p>Ian hummed in response, pumping low to the base as he closed his eyes and thought about the things he would do to Mickey, how he would massage his balls in one hand as his other was wrapped around to rub and spank at his buttocks. Hungry. There would be no other way to describe the enthusiasm that spurred on the way that Ian sucked and licked over his boyfriend’s throbbing cock. And when the precum would hit his tongue is when he would pull off to quickly wet his middle finger, instantly returning his mouth to Mickey’s momentarily-dejected cock as his finger would persistently rub at Mickey’s rim.</p><p>“Kinda’ gotta talk for this to work, Ian,” Mickey laughed lightly at the end of the phone, pulling Ian from his thoughts.</p><p>“Fuck, sorry… I- I was…” Ian was panting lightly as he jerked his cock with a haphazard rhythm.</p><p>“Don’t gotta’ apologise, just fuckin’ don’t finish without me…” Mickey’s voice was laced with laughter before becoming instantly serious and sultry. “Fuck, I really wanna’ fuck ya’, man. Wanna’ feel that tight ass ‘round my dick as I fuck ya’ ‘til you’re screamin’.”</p><p>“Screw this shit,” Ian sighed, standing up to pull his sweatpants over his leaking cock.</p><p>
  <strong>* * * </strong>
</p><p>Mickey was taken aback by Ian’s response. His hand on his cock had stopped as he began to stammer out an apology. It was cut short, however, by Ian talking firmly.</p><p>“I’m leaving now.”</p><p>Mickey’s breath almost caught in his throat at the strength in Ian’s tone, and he began to move his hand again.</p><p>“And you’re not going to touch your dick. That thing is only getting touched by me until you come inside me. And you’re telling me exactly what you’re doing until I get there.” The boy at the end of the phone admonished, and Mickey yanked his hand away obediently.</p><p>The commanding side to Ian, the dominance behind it, had Mickey twitching with want and need. “Can I finger my ass?” The submissive tone he had queried permission in had his back arching at the thought of Ian using him as he pleased.</p><p>“Yeah. Two fingers. Suck them. Hard. Just like you do when you suck my dick nice and good.” Ian groaned lowly down the phone, and if Mickey’s cock didn’t perk up eagerly at the noise, twitching its excitement. As Mickey took his digits in his mouth, he made a point of pressing back against his throat to pull a slight gagging noise, wanting Ian to hear. And the act had its desired effect. “Fuck, that should be my dick,” Ian said, his breathing slightly more laboured.</p><p>“It should,” Mickey agreed as he moved his hands down to his opening. “Am I… doing one finger then two or ju-“</p><p>“Both,” Ian said sharply. “Wanna’ hear you moan as you stretch it out, Mick.”</p><p>“Fuck, I…” Wavering on whether or not he should do it, Mickey hesitated. “I want you to…”</p><p>“I’m gonna’ watch…”</p><p>“Are you…?” Mickey wasn’t quite sure what he was intending to ask Ian.</p><p>“At your window.” There was a light rapping on his window. Mickey reached an arm behind him, leant up on the other, and yanked open the thin curtain to see a smug-looking Ian looking back at him, biting his bottom lip hard.</p><p>In an instant, Mickey was unlatching the window and pushing it up enough for Ian to take over and climb in. And just like that, Ian was shedding his shoes and clothes and pushing Mickey back against the headboard. He sat himself at the foot of the bed as he let his cock sit in his hand, not moving it.</p><p>Jesus fuck, his boyfriend was like a freaking model, sitting there with his cock hanging out, nothing but muscle and freckle. There wasn’t an inch of Ian that Mickey didn’t think was perfect. But right now, there were nine that were <em>the </em>most perfect inches of Ian, and he wanted them inside of him.</p><p>“Fingers. Now.” Ian said nothing more as he watched his boyfriend suck on his fingers again before spreading his legs and beginning to probe at his aching, needy hole. “Slowly. And scissor for me, Mick.”</p><p>Obligingly, Mickey pressed the two wet fingers in, feeling the hot sting as his eyes watered through pleasure and pain simultaneously. Mickey’s head hung back slightly at the initial intrusion, but he forced himself to look up, not being disappointed. With his jaw hanging agape, his addictive green eyes trained on Mickey, Ian sat jerking his cock as he watched the show that was his boyfriend opening himself just for him.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>… stop.” Ian was suddenly up on his knees and reaching for Mickey. And Mickey didn’t need Ian’s instruction this time to know that he needed to wet Ian’s cock, sucking it with no other purpose than lubrication.</p><p>The passion Ian worked with as soon as Mickey had pulled off of his cock and turned to rest on his hands and knees was admirable. Like a stallion, Ian’s cock was pounding deep into Mickey as his hands gripped his hips tight enough that Mickey was confident there would be bruises. It was animalistic and intense. There was no hesitation or reluctance, Ian was simply all in and all man as he gave his boyfriend an untouched orgasm that was filled with lust and need.</p><p>The pair had allowed themselves to settle into a post-sex cuddle after briefly cleaning off, Mickey holding Ian close as they lay peacefully.</p><p>“I gotta’ get going,” Ian says sleepily, causing Mickey’s eyes to flutter open. He had not been far off of sleeping himself, the bittersweet pain in his behind mixed with the fact that he had been up since six that morning not making it a difficult feat.</p><p>With a firm squeeze, Mikey pulled Ian closer against his chest, pressing his face into his neck as he mewled out a soft “Noooo,” nuzzling his nose against the warm, freckled skin.</p><p>“I have work and I need to get an early night.” Ian’s words suggested the necessity to leave, but his movements showed no indication of doing so whatsoever.</p><p>“Me too. Up a six tomorrow so I’m pretty ready to just K.O. right now. You’d be savin’ time by not havin’ to get ready and walk back.” Mickey didn’t open his eyes as he spoke, hoping to maintain the relaxed façade that hid the fact that he so desperately wanted to plead until Ian stayed.</p><p>“Sold,” Ian chuckled, raising his hand in the air like he was bidding at an auction, “to the gentleman in the back with the best ass on the South Side.”</p><p>“Can’t buy yourself,” Mickey responded before pulling his boyfriend impossibly closer and trying to bring the comforter up higher with his leg. He mostly just managed to tangle it about their limbs, but they were both more than warm enough in each other’s embrace. “I love you, man,” Mickey mumbled as he allowed himself to be encompassed by sleep. Hearing Ian’s response of mutuality saw the pair of them drifting off with contented smiles across their lips.</p><p>
  <strong>* * * </strong>
</p><p>If Friday evening had been indicative of how the next two weeks would be, then Ian was sure that he and Mickey would be absolutely fine. It wasn’t that he doubted their ability to be apart, it was that he was on the fence about how Mickey’s anxiety would fare with what Ian was sure came across as a possibility of abandonment. Fear of abandonment was one of the main traits of B.P.D., and it was a constant underlying source of his boyfriend’s anxiety that Ian had made a point of trying to learn how to recognise and alleviate.</p><p>And their interactions of that evening seemed to suggest that Mickey was dealing with it well. Clearly, Perry was as good a therapist as Mickey had always claimed.</p><p>Ian’s Sunday shift had been as uneventful as every other one, Kash was there for the morning, and then the afternoon into the evening was on Ian. He didn’t mind the routine, it wasn’t often very busy into a Sunday evening.</p><p>With just over an hour left to his shift, Ian stepped away from his studies at the counter to try and get some of the stock out that he had been unable to complete whilst Kash was in the store. He had made a point to work the stock that was away from the door or register when Kash was there, knowing that he wouldn’t complete it all when they had received the delivery that morning. Upon mentioning it to Kash when he had queried why Ian seemed as far away from him as possible (“<em>Do I smell? Because I told Linda that fancy new shower gel was a bit outlandish!</em>”), he had commended on his forward-thinking and mumbled lightly about remembering why he had hired Ian again.</p><p>“<em>Ian?!</em>” A shrill voice pulled Ian’s attention from the tomato soup he was stacking on the shelf, his back to the door.</p><p><em>Shit</em>, he thought to himself. A tone like that on a female was never a good sign. With two sisters, he had gradually learnt to understand the female voice, and it was very rarely safe.</p><p>“Ian Gallagher. I knew it was you – only <em>pelirrojo</em> besides your sister with hair so bright that doesn’t come out of a box!” There was an almost fond anger to her tone as she spoke.</p><p>Well, even if he hadn’t have turned around, Ian could have just listened and told you who was standing behind him using the Spanish term of endearment. He was almost sure he wanted to be sick in that moment. It was like a past life had come back to haunt him, turning around to meet the gorgeous Daya, with her thick, dark curls piled on top of her head in a messy bun and a typically-Daya low-cut tank top that highlighted one of her many assets.</p><p>Looking at Daya hit Ian with a train wreck of emotions and thoughts. As he looked at her, noticing that she was just as beautiful as when he had left, he remembered why Lip had been so envious of him when he had found out they were dating. But her face said what the multitudes of missed calls, voicemails and texts he had been welcomed home by upon leaving the hospital couldn’t: why couldn’t you just <em>talk</em> to me?</p><p>During the manic phase that had landed him in the psychiatric hospital, he had broken it off with her during the road trip out of Illinois. Apparently, she had been hounding the Gallagher home whilst he had been trying to recover; Lip had told him that she had given him a free pass after they had filled her in as vaguely as possible. He didn’t know how much his siblings had told her, he had never wanted to bring it up with them, so he had simply played blissfully ignorant with his boyfriend and deleted all of her messages, hoping she would take the hint.</p><p>Guilt twisted in his stomach. He really had done her wrong. And he had emerged from ignoring her with a boyfriend – admittedly only their siblings, Kev and Vee, and Mickey’s work colleagues knew of that fact, but it didn’t excuse the fact that that was what he had done. Shame had been a big factor in his decision to not want to make contact with her after initially waking from his coma and gaining his Bipolar diagnosis. He couldn’t explain the rationale totally, maybe it was thinking he wasn’t good enough for her after what he’d done, or maybe it was not wanting to have to try and explain everything to her. And then Mickey had come into the picture and things just happened, with Daya just fading from his thoughts as the boy with the extreme emotions and crippling fear of abandonment had consumed them gradually.</p><p>“Hey, Daya,” Ian mumbled uncomfortably, standing to offer a weak smile and a wave of his hand.</p><p>Her eyes seemed glassy as she sighed, going to him and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she exhausted, letting go of his rigid form. “When did you get home?”</p><p>“Week and a half ago,” his voice was small as he looked at the tin of soup in his hand, feeling as though he was on trial with the deflated-looking Latina.</p><p>“And you couldn’t’ve responded to one of my texts or voicemails?” Her voice breaking with upset was like torture. Ian wasn’t an idiot, he knew he had been an ass to her and treated her like shit. But he didn’t know what could be done about it at this point. An apology seemed like an insult.</p><p>“I didn’t know how to,” he muttered, tugging at the sleeves of his grey hoodie as he felt like an insecure child being punished. “I… fuck, I was a dick, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, too,” she spoke softly and sadly, her eyes steely, clearly trying to hold back a full wave of tears. “I’m sorry that I loved you enough to think that we’d be able to work on us once you’d worked on yourself.”</p><p>Running a clammy hand up his neck, Ian sighed and looked at her with a defeated look, “Everything… it went to shit. And then shit got weird and changed and I didn’t even know how to talk to you after. But… I did love you. I never lied. It’s just that everything changed.”</p><p>“What is ‘everything’? You can’t just give me some bullshit excuse like that. Fucking talk to me!” Daya’s sadness had quickly diminished her tear-crested lashes now framing eyes fuelled with rage and resentment.</p><p>Giving Daya the honest answer, the one where he had basically forgotten her for some dude he had met in the nuthouse wasn’t something he was ready to admit to himself fully, let alone to Daya. She was a popular girl, and he wasn’t going to tell her anything that he wasn’t comfortable with the world knowing yet</p><p>Ian’s head was shaking ‘no’ before he knew it, “No. I can’t. I’m not ready. I… I can’t… I’m sorry, can you please leave now?” His hands trembled as he spoke, desperately gripping the cuffs of his hoodie in his hands, walking to sit behind the counter before his legs became jelly and betrayed him. “Just… get what you need and leave, please.” He rested his head in his hands, his elbows perched on the counter as he tried to stave off the oncoming panic attack.</p><p>“Ian, are you o-” Daya had moved towards the counter, noticing the unease in her ex-boyfriend.</p><p>“<em>Please</em>,” Ian gasped out, his words almost strangled as he briefly looked up to her with watery eyes.</p><p>“Marlboro, please,” she mumbled sadly, placing a twenty-dollar bill on the counter whilst she looked at him with concern. As she accepted the carton of cigarettes and her change, she offered him a sad expression, saying softly, “I’m sorry,” before leaving the store.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, guilt</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mickey pressed a kiss to Ian’s temple nearest him and nuzzled his nose down against the brightly-coloured sideburn, “Darkhorse you are, bet you’re a lowkey stripper as well,” he laughed as he spoke, and a small chuckle could be heard vibrating through Ian’s chest.</p><p>Looking to Mickey sincerely, the redhead spoke, “I have… the ass for it.”</p><p>“Preach it, man.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I tried to post this last night but it got lost during the update period. </p><p>Hit up my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - and hit me up on here with your thoughts etc.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enjoying a pleasant nap, Mickey grumbled when his phone ringing woke him up. With a groan, he opened his eyes blearily, every intention to hang up on whichever asshole had decided to wake him.</p><p>
  <em>Ian.</em>
</p><p>It was weird, Ian was working until five-thirty, so why would he be calling him? With that in mind, worry pressed Mickey into a more awakened state as he answered the phone with a concerned “Is everything okay, Ian?” He could hear Ian gasping and crying as he struggled to answer. And that was enough to send Mickey’s mind into overdrive as he was instantly pulling on pants and a tank top and saying “Hey, Ian, calm down, are you safe? You need to talk to me, man.” Ian’s end of the phone was still tears and shaking, gasping breaths.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p><p>“Panic attack?” And then he heard the juddering confirmation from Ian that was a forced ‘uh-huh’. “I’m on my way. Still at work?” Another affirmative noise from his boyfriend had Mickey running out of the Milkovich house as he kept the phone to his ear (a very difficult task it turned out). “Breathe for me. In and out. We just gotta’ try and calm down, just take deep breaths for me, Ian. Forget whatever shit brought it on and just focus everything on your breathin’.”</p><p>It made Mickey feel physically sick to hear Ian sound so broken and scared down the phone. Of course, for a moment, his mind had gone to other – darker – thoughts when his boyfriend had not spoken. Fears of Terry having fulfilled one of the hideous dreams Mickey had had in the hospital, the younger boy tied up to be tortured or worse, had made his mouth bitter with bile that clung to the back of his throat. But Ian confirming a panic attack had allowed his heart to stop skipping beats, returning to its regular murmur (if not slightly faster from the sprinting).</p><p>It was a shock that the glass on the Kash and Grab door didn’t smash with the force he had thrown it open in, stuffing his phone in his pants pocket as he had heard the redhead’s desperate gasps. His boyfriend was sat on the tiled floor, grasping at the ground in an attempt to level himself.</p><p>“I’m here. It’s me. Just breathe with me,” Mickey had instantly dropped to the floor beside the younger boy, pulling him to the side against his chest as he ran a hand through his hair and emphasised his breathing. It was difficult to do as he tried to slow his heart rate and breathing at the same time as doing the long, deep, exaggerated breaths. “Everything’s okay. It’s just a panic attack, we got this. Me and you, Ian, we got it. Ya’ just gotta’ focus on that breathin’ for me.” His lips were in Ian’s fiery hair as he spoke, willing him out of the panic attack. “I got ya’, it’s gonna’ be okay.”</p><p>Mickey felt Ian nodding gently against his chest as his shuddering breaths began to slow, and he allowed himself to exhale in relief. “So, how’s school stuff goin’?” He asked, trying to focus Ian’s mind elsewhere so that he could fully recover from the anxiety attack.</p><p>“Umm, history’s done…” Ian’s words were spattered with gasps and sniffles, “essay too. Did… some chem’ classes…. with Lip…”</p><p>“Yeah? That’s awesome,” Mickey encouraged, soothing his hand over the nape of Ian’s neck.</p><p>“And half-done… umm, creative writing… umm, short story…”</p><p>Mickey raised an eyebrow, taken aback at the choice of elective. “Never said ya’ like that shit.”</p><p>Ian’s slowing breathing set the tempo for his nod, “Yeah… can make a new world… when it’s… all shit…”</p><p>Mickey pressed a kiss to Ian’s temple nearest him and nuzzled his nose down against the brightly-coloured sideburn, “Darkhorse you are, bet you’re a lowkey stripper as well,” he laughed as he spoke, and a small chuckle could be heard vibrating through Ian’s chest.</p><p>Looking to Mickey sincerely, the redhead spoke, “I have… the ass for it.”</p><p>“Preach it, man.” He pulled away from Ian slightly to look him in the eye, “Ya’ good?”</p><p>Nodding lightly, Ian pulled away from his boyfriend to rub his face with his hands and stand up to stretch out the tension and tightness in every muscle. “Thank you,” he whispered as he extended a hand to pull Mickey to his feet, squeezing his hand before he turned at the register, noticing Linda stood at the door that led upstairs.</p><p>“Ian, head on home, I’ll cover your last fifteen minutes and do lock up,” she smiled sympathetically, shooing a hand at him playfully. “And… if that happens again, just text and we’ll come and cover you so you can get space and air.”</p><p>Mickey cocked an accusatory eyebrow, questioning if she had been stood there the whole time.</p><p>“Cameras,” Linda jerked her head in the direction of the security camera trained on the register. “When I noticed, I was on my way down but then you walked in, so I snuck back out.”</p><p>Appreciatively, Mickey nodded his thanks and let his eyes focus on his boyfriend, noticing the worried, fearful look on his face. “Thanks,” Mickey reiterated as he put a hand on the small of Ian’s back, applying enough pressure to get his legs to take him towards the door with a mumbled thank you to the owner. And he wouldn’t point it out to the younger boy, but Mickey noticed the slight flinch as he had ushered Ian to the door, his thoughts trained on what Linda thought of him after having seen them together.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Walking back to the Gallagher home, Ian was almost trance-like, his mind reeling as he was stuck on the fact that Linda had seen Mickey holding him and kissing him. It made him feel sick to his stomach to think that people were judging him and making assumptions about him that he couldn’t even correct them on. With Mickey so understanding and comfortable in allowing them to just… be, it head meant that Ian hadn’t had to sit and think about what or who he was.</p><p>Although, thinking on the evening, the fact that he still felt some form of sexual attraction to Daya was maybe indicative of the fact that he wasn’t simply gay. It wasn’t that he wanted to do anything with Daya sexually or emotionally – he was more than happy with Mickey – but he was able to recognise that he hadn’t looked at Daya like just any old female, but as someone that he could still imagine a relationship with if he were not already in one that made his insides tingle with elation. </p><p>A part of Ian knew this was something he would have to discuss with Mickey, but another part of him pointed out that Mickey’s anxiety may spike overhearing that Ian still found his ex attractive and still felt he was attracted to girls as well. But keeping it from him and it then managing to come out would just make him look guilty and come across as though he were hiding it for reasons other than to protect him. He would discuss it with Mandy and get her opinion on how best to act.</p><p>“Hey, we’re here,” Mickey spoke softly, briefly reaching to give his hand a squeeze and pull him from his daydreaming.</p><p>“Sorry,” Ian wasn’t quite sure why felt the need to apologise, and, of course, Mickey called him out on it. “I don’t know… guess I’m sorry for just being a nuisance or some shit…”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist, pulling him in close as he looked up to say “you’re everythin’ to me, not a nuisance. I love you.”</p><p>This was already the most contact they had made out of either of their homes. Fuck it. Ian leaned down to pull Mickey into a tender kiss, their lips locking together as his hand sat against his stubbly cheek.</p><p>How did Mickey always seem to know the perfect thing to say? It was like he just knew what Ian needed to hear. The persistent fear that he was the hurricane that came into town to cause trouble like his mother made him worry that he was more hassle than he was worth. This had been part of his initial reluctance to accept his diagnosis when he had been institutionalised, and it had been Mickey who had helped him so much to do that, pushing him to attend his sessions and utilise the help people were trying to give him.</p><p>
  <em>“You’re not a waste of oxygen.”</em>
</p><p>Mickey saying those words to him had been the first time Ian had looked at him in a romantic way. The first time he had looked at <em>any</em> guy in a romantic way. And now, less than three months later, here he stood with his boyfriend who loved him, and whom he loved in return.</p><p>“I’m so lucky to have you,” Ian mumbled after they had separated, smiling softly at the shorter boy.</p><p>Mickey barked out a laugh as he stepped away, knocking Ian’s shoulder lightly, “Nah, man, trust me, I am to have ya’ put up with my high-maintenance ass!”</p><p>“I love your high-maintenance ass,” he laughed lightly before looking to see if Mickey would come in for dinner. A gentle nod was enough confirmation for Ian to make his way for the door, his boyfriend on his tail.</p><p>As Ian walked through the lounge to go and get drinks, he scruffed his hand through his younger siblings’ hair as he passed, earning protests from Debbie.</p><p>“Ian! You’ll ruin my braids, and it took me ages to do these!” Her head had snapped around to send him a threatening stare, lips pursed and chin jutting out just like he did.</p><p>He had simply offered her a wink and stuck his tongue out before continuing to his destination: the kitchen. Fiona was in there, stirring a large pot on the stove. “Hey, Fi,” Ian said as he glided past her to get a bottle of soda from the fridge to pour their drinks out, “is Mickey okay to stay for dinner?”</p><p>She looked up with a smile, nodding her head as she spoke, “Kev and Vee are bringing over a chilli if that’s cool? I’m on rice and salad.”</p><p>“Thanks, Fiona,” Mickey grinned at her before Ian explained that they were going upstairs to study, earning a suggestive look from the eldest Gallagher that made Ian blush.</p><p>Sat on his bed, Ian smiled as Mickey sat himself behind him to massage his shoulders and neck, releasing the tension that had built up from his panic attack earlier on. “That feels good,” he sighed, letting his head drop forward to allow Mickey better access to his tense neck.</p><p>“Good,” Mickey decided, seating himself a bit more comfortably, his legs spreading either side of Ian’s body. “And… don’t think that because I’m here ya’ can’t do any schoolwork if ya’ need to.”</p><p>Jesus, this guy was too good to him.</p><p>“Sure you don’t mind?” Ian queried, turning to read Mickey’s response: his smile and nod were genuine, his eyes relaxed and mellow. “You’re the best. I’m gonna’ finish my short story,” Ian gestured to the paperwork on the desk in the room before standing up quickly to fetch it.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>As Ian perched himself back between his legs, Mickey returned to rubbing at his strong shoulders. “Wanna’ get your hoodie off before your back sweats to death with me sat here?” He asked as he felt the warmth radiating from Ian’s lean body.</p><p>The truth was that he was sure Ian forgot that he was wearing it, feeling too used to having to hide the divergences of his body from the world, to being too hot and too uncomfortable to totally think about his own wants. The Kash and Grab was hot, there was no denying it, and stocking shelves in that heat with a hoodie was a killer for Ian, but his fear of people seeing his arms outweighed the fact that he was too hot in the layers. He hated that that was such a concern of Ian’s, and he wanted to try and remind him sometimes that he should put his needs first, but he would work on doing it subtly.</p><p>“You that hot?” Ian joked as he shrugged his arms out of the non-summery item and threw it aside.</p><p>“Have you <em>seen</em> my ass?” Mickey responded, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of Ian’s neck as he rumbled lightly with laughter.</p><p>Mickey had kneaded at his boyfriend’s back for a good fifteen minutes before moving to sit on his left, resting his head against his non-writing arm and simply revelling in Ian’s smell and feel. He hadn’t meant to, not wanting to invade his boyfriend’s privacy, but he had read an excerpt of Ian’s short story before he had turned the page.</p><p>
  <em>It varies between people, like eye colour or food preference.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Some people feel most excited when their football team wins or they get a compliment. But none of those compared to being loved. Jason felt on top of the world when he had that one person that made his life complete and full of value. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The simple things no longer seemed trivial, the difficult things became easier, and mundane tasks were more exciting with that person. Having a companion alongside him in life just made living a much more fluid task, and it was a feeling he never wanted to give up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jason drained the glass of orange juice once he had finished his breakfast, and stood to clear the table, popping a sweet kiss on her cheek- </em>
</p><p>Mickey hadn’t been able to finish the paragraph, stopping at the word ‘she’. It shouldn’t have hurt that Ian was writing about a girl. It shouldn’t. But it did. It suddenly made the words feel hostile as he remembered that Ian had said that he wrote to escape. He as escaping to a world where he sang and danced with a girl. Not Mickey. A fucking girl.</p><p>“Hey, I’m gonna’ have to skip out on dinner if that’s okay? I’m feelin’ a little sick,” Mickey lied as he lifted his head from Ian’s shoulder.</p><p>“I… are you sure?” Ian seemed confused, the declaration coming out of the blue.</p><p>Sullenly, Mickey nodded his head and mumbled about how Iggy had made dinner the night before and he was sure it was repeating on him. “Thanks anyway though.” He was climbing off the bed to pull his boots on and make his way for the door before Ian could get up quick enough to follow. Racing down the stairs to exit the house, his legs felt like Jell-O. A part of him knew that his skittish exit would raise flags with Ian, but the part of him that cared was overshadowed by the anger that he felt, the inadequacy Ian’s writing had implied.</p><p>To Ian, he was just a phase. That was why he was so reluctant to allow their relationship to be more public. A means to an end. Mickey was just a cheap thrill, a new kind of sex that had been sufficient when there were no other options.</p><p>Once home, Mickey put his phone on silent, not wanting to hear whatever texts he had felt buzz through from Ian on his way back, settling on taking himself straight to bed and distancing himself from his thoughts of his… boyfriend?</p><p>
  <em>Mickey sat across the table from Ian, the pair of them eating fluffy pancakes and fruit whilst drinking orange juice. The radio played softly in the background, a soft lullaby to the bubble of contentment they existed in. No words were expressed during their food, simply flirty smiles as they allowed their feet to playfully knock against one another’s beneath the table. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When they had finished eating, Ian had cleared the table, kissing his cheek swiftly, and began washing the dishes before Mickey could even make a move. He had felt his heart swell a little at the small gesture, and made a move to turn up the radio before he picked up a chequered dishcloth to dry up. Mickey felt his lips stretch into a smile as Ian allowed his hips to move easily to the music, singing along to the song as he scrubbed a particularly stubborn frying pan. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The taller boy’s actions were contagious, and Mickey’s hips began to move as well before he began to sing. And his voice seemed particularly high-pitched compared to Ian’s, unless his was just lower than normal. Regardless, he continued, basking in the positive energy that encompassed them. As he dried off a spoon, he looked into it with concentration, ensuring he polished their best silverware until he could see his face in it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And he saw himself reflected back upside down. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His hair was long. His lips an offendingly-bright pink. It couldn’t be right.</em>
</p><p><em>Confused, he placed the spoon on the worktop to walk towards the window, seeing himself reflected clear as day. His hair </em>was<em> long. And an atrocious magenta colour</em> was<em> painted on to his lips. But that wasn’t the most shocking part. Cautiously, he looked down to see an ample bosom staring back up at him beneath the floral colour of a ditsy sundress.</em></p><p>His heart felt like it would pound out of his chest as Mickey awoke with a start, his entire body coated in a sheen of sweat as his breathing was shallow and laboured. Instantly, he was throwing himself from his bed to run to the bathroom to be sure.</p><p>“What the fuck…?” Mickey mumbled as he fingered at his messy, dark locks, now sticking up in a multitude of directions, with one hand and ran his fingers across his stubbly jaw and over his bare, quivering lips. It was silly, but he still looked down, needing to be sure. When he was met with his own muscled chest, he let out a sigh of relief. The two alternate images of himself now and himself in his dream had his stomach twisting and turning before he felt himself vomiting into the sink, his retching painful and sharp against his throat as hot tears stung his eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, panic attack, over-thinking, mention of self-harm scars</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As he explained his dream and what he had seen of Ian’s story between scarfing down the much-needed food, he felt grateful for Mandy’s company.</p><p>“First of all, was girl Mickey hot?” Mandy joked, laughing sharply at the firm expression Mickey returned. “And secondly, Ian doesn’t think you’re a phase, Mick – the kid’s crazy about you.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Omg so I forgot how much I loved this chapter and how cute it is (Mary, this is it this time - this is the really fucking adorable exchange I was on about!) So yeah, a little angst, but I'd say the latter half to a third is totally worth it.</p><p>Anywho, hit me up with your thoughts on here or Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey’s vomiting had been loud enough to garner a knock at the bathroom door and a call from his sister of “You okay in there?” When he didn’t answer, hanging his head in his hands as empty retches clawed their way from his mouth, she persisted, “Mick? Can I come in?”</p><p>He didn’t know why she asked, because she had walked in <em>as </em>she had asked him, not allowing a pause for an answer. Not daring to turn from the sink, he waved a middle finger towards her as he continued to dry-heave, his stomach feeling like it was being pulled out through his throat.</p><p>“I’ll get you some water,” she declared before exiting the bathroom and returning with said beverage, sitting herself on the toilet after she had popped the lid down.</p><p>When his stomach stopped turning and attempting to clear its empty contents, he turned on the tap to wash out the basin as he accepted the water from Mandy. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he took a few small sips, the coolness on his raw throat feeling like silk on bare skin.</p><p>“What caused that?” The female Milkovich asked as she took the water back from his to offer up some toilet roll.</p><p>Wiping at his mouth, Mickey sighed before admitting “Bad dream.”</p><p>“Brush your teeth and shower and we can talk about it, how about that? I can even throw in a few pizza bagels,” Mandy grinned at him, waggling her eyebrows playfully, like the pizza bagels were the deciding factor of the offer.</p><p>Nodding submissively, Mickey turned on the shower, allowing the water to warm up, as he asked Mandy what time it was. When she told him it was nine, he was shocked to realise that he had only napped for about two hours. The dream had felt so much longer though. “Get out, then,” Mickey laughed as he gestured to the length of his body and then the shower, earning a light laugh from his sister as she left the bathroom with the half-drunk glass of water.</p><p>Once fresh and clean, Mickey pulled on a pair of sweatpants and sat beside Mandy on the couch, snagging one of the pizza bagels from the coffee table to fill the hole that was his stomach. As he explained his dream and what he had seen of Ian’s story between scarfing down the much-needed food, he felt grateful for Mandy’s company.</p><p>“First of all, was girl Mickey hot?” Mandy joked, laughing sharply at the firm expression Mickey returned. “And secondly, Ian doesn’t think you’re a phase, Mick, Kid’s crazy about you.”</p><p>“Then why’s he writin’ ‘bout bein’ in love with chicks?” A few crumbs sprayed from Mickey’s lips.</p><p>“Okay, eww. I’m sure Ian doesn’t have to ask you to swallow!”</p><p>“<em>Jesus!</em>” An embarrassed flush chased its way up Mickey’s neck and headed into his hairline at his sister’s comment.</p><p>She took a sip of her beer before she spoke, a finger rubbing circles around the neck of the bottle, “How do you know the story is about him? I mean I’m sure the chick that wrote<em> Harry Potter </em>isn’t a wizard. Or… ya’ know, <em>a dude named Harry</em>.” Mandy paused for a moment to put the beer bottle down, “Writers write about everything, Mick, not just their own lives.”</p><p>Shit, when she put it like that, Mickey’s reasoning hadn’t made a lot of sense. Perhaps the words he had read had rung so deep because the feelings of love and feeling on top of the world were how Mickey felt knowing he had Ian. And Ian <em>had</em> been the one to initiate their lengthy kiss out on the sidewalk, in broad daylight.</p><p>“I should call him,” Mickey clenched his teeth as he looked down to his hands in embarrassment, awaiting confirmation from his sister.</p><p>She nodded and hummed lightly, “Yeah, you were pretty rude from what you told me.”</p><p>“Thanks, Mands.” The look of elation that plastered itself across his sister’s face was enough to know that Mickey had managed to appropriately show his appreciation; “You’re the best sister I could’ve asked for.”</p><p>After digging his phone out from the pile of clothes he had left it in when he had stripped down to sleep, a feeling of guilt pulled tight in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (18:32):</strong>
  <em> Are you okay? </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (18:32):</strong>
  <em> Did I do something wrong?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (19:00): MISSED CALL</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (19:02): </strong>
  <em>Just talk to me when you’re ready. Idk what I did, but I know that wasn’t you feeling sick…</em>
</p><p>His thumb hovering over the dial button, Mickey felt his heart speed up a little as the dial tone sounded. It rang a few more times than Mickey would have liked. He was almost prepared to hang up before he had to feel shame as the voicemail message chimed out that he had upset his boyfriend enough to ignore his call.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Ian had felt embarrassed as he had tried to explain Mickey’s hasty exit to Fiona when she had come up to speak him, insisting that nothing had happened between them when she had probed. She had nodded along and said she would bring his dinner up if he wanted, saying it was because she could see that he was really busy with his work. That was Fiona’s way of saying ‘I know you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine, I’ll cover for you with everyone,’ and he appreciated it so much.</p><p>He had allowed Mickey a little space, not wanting to pester him if he didn’t want to talk. When Mickey didn’t feel like speaking, he turned to a brick wall, silent and un-budging. During Mickey’s ‘space,’ Ian had managed to complete his short story, proof-read it, and clear two weeks of English notes.</p><p>As Ian stepped out of the shower, he heard his phone ringing from the bedroom and couldn’t get a towel around his waist fast enough.</p><p>“Mickey,” he half-gasped as he picked up his phone and went into Frank’s room, not wanting to speak to his boyfriend with his brothers listening.</p><p>The response at the other end of the phone was sheepish: “Hi.” Ian didn’t reply. Not out of stubbornness, but out of caution, not wanting to provoke an unnecessary conversation, so he allowed Mickey to direct the conversation. “I’m sorry…” Again, Ian waited for his boyfriend to drive the conversation. “You’re right, I wasn’t sick, I… I was angry.”</p><p>“Why?” He made a point to keep his voice soft and calm.</p><p>Mickey sighed down the line before he cleared his throat to speak, “I saw a part of your story. I didn’t mean to, I was just starin’ in space… and then I was readin’ it.”</p><p>“Okay.” Unsure how to feel, Ian waited. His reading was something he had never usually minded having read by others. But that was when he wrote action- and war-based stories. This was a romantic short story, and it felt very much like he was putting himself in the firing line.</p><p>“It’s about a chick. And love. And I saw that, and my mind was stupid and went into overdrive. I… I’m sorry. Mandy had to help me realise that J.K. ain’t a wizard, so who says you’re in love with a chick.”</p><p>“Where did you read up to?” Sounding like a small child being old off, Mickey mumbled about the kiss on the cheek. “Okay. Just wait a sec’ I’ll be back,” Ian explained as he got up to go and retrieve his short story and a pair of boxers from his bedroom. “You there?” He queried with the silent phone line.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Okay, listen to what I read and then tell me what you think.” He pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder before finding the place in his story the boy at the end of the phone had mentioned and reading: “<em>Jason drained the glass of orange juice once he had finished his breakfast, and stood to clear the table, popping a sweet kiss on her cheek before going to wash the dishes as she dried. They would turn the radio up and sing along tonelessly as they swayed without rhythm. He would notice out of the corner of his eye how her raven black hair glistened when she swayed into a ray of sunshine, how her hip movements were flirtatious and confident as she lost herself in the upbeat song.</em>” The silence between them was deafening as Ian waited patiently for an answer from his boyfriend.</p><p>“It’s good.” Mickey finally offered, his voice weak.</p><p>Ian shook his head slightly to himself, “Okay, I’m gonna’ read it again. Just <em>listen</em>.” Ian reread the paragraph, replacing the female pronouns with male ones. “It is about me.” Ian conceded, his tone slightly sad, “But it’s about you as well.” When Mickey didn’t respond, he admitted “The teacher sometimes reads our stuff out in class. How was it gonna’ look having everyone hear a story I wrote about being in love with <em>a guy</em> in one of the South Side’s roughest schools?”</p><p>“Oh.” Mickey was hesitant before he aired his earlier thought trails, “I thought maybe… I was… just a phase.”</p><p><em>Fuck</em>, Ian sighed as he swore internally. He definitely needed to speak to Mickey about this possibly-bisexual shit now. And… maybe he needed to bite the bullet and be more open with their relationship, for Mickey’s sake as well as his own.</p><p>“Can I come over?” Ian finally asked, unsure of how long he had left Mickey with nothing but his breathing as he had sat in thought.</p><p>“I… sure.” Mickey finally answered, his voice airing confusion.</p><p>Arriving at the Milkovich home with a backpack of clothes and some folders of class notes and study items, Ian texted Mickey that he was there, aware that it was already gone ten when he arrived. He shot a quick text to Fiona (she had been drinking over at Kev and Vee’s when he had left) to let her know that he was there for the night and working the tomorrow whilst he waited for the Milkovich home to open up and welcome him in.</p><p>Sheepishly, Mickey led the way to his room, his head hung low as he walked. Ian shut the door behind them and perched himself on the bed against the headboard, putting an arm out to invite Mickey in.</p><p>“I’m not angry,” he began when Mickey had nestled his head on his chest and wrapped an arm around his waist, “I just… wish you would have asked me then rather than getting yourself worked up over it.” He felt Mickey shrugging against his ribs. “I’ve said, you can talk to me about anything, Mick. Anything. Even if you think it’ll make me angry or sad.”</p><p>“It’s not that I th-” Mickey sat up to look Ian in the eye, “You said you write to escape. And it was about a girl. And there was your boss seein’ us. And I thought...”</p><p>“I was trying to escape this?” Ian’s voice was almost shocked as he gestured between them, sitting himself up.</p><p>“Yeah. I… tunnel-visioned, ya’ know? In hindsight, you kissed me in public and shit, but I just saw that and got angry. I’m sorry.” Mickey’s eyes had dropped to his hands, picking at a hangnail.</p><p>“I don’t wanna’ escape this… it was just the easiest work to do whilst you there. Writing about <em>love</em> whilst I’ve got the guy I love rubbing my shoulders? It was easy work, not an escape.” The skin was clammy on Mickey’s hand as he pulled it to his lips.</p><p>A few dark locks slipped down from where Mickey had slicked his wet hair back after showering and it had dried and lost it’s hold. He nodded gently as he pushed the hair back, “I just love you. And… I’m scared of losing you. I don’t know what I’d do.”</p><p>“It’s a good job you won’t have to find out then,” Ian chuckled, leaning forward to peck Mickey’s lips lightly. He stood up to strip down to his boxers before tucking himself under the comforter and saying, “Come and cuddle.”</p><p>Once Mickey lay against his chest, his legs tucked between Ian’s calves, Ian began his walk on hot coals. “So, I also need to explain something to you.” Mickey tensed in his arms at his cautious tone, “It’s not bad, but I don’t want it to come across as me hiding things,” he reassured his boyfriend, squeezing his waist gently. “I… saw Daya at the Kash and Grab today.” Mickey was silent, so Ian continued, “My ex. And… we talked a little and… well, she’s actually the reason I had the panic attack.”</p><p>“Was it seein’ her? Or did she say somethin’?” There was a stoic tone to Mickey’s words, seeking out facts.</p><p>“I guess a little of both,” Ian proceeded to explain what had happened between them during his first manic episode, what had awaited him on his phone when he left the hospital, and how he had acted, not wanting how Daya had been with him earlier that day to be unjustified. Because he had been an absolute dick to her, so she had been very entitled to demand a few answers with the piss-poor excuse he had given her.</p><p>“So, yeah, that happened. But… I realised… when I was talking to her and looking at her… I think I’m bi.” Ian was hasty to get out the next part before Mickey could cut him off, “I don’t wanna’ get with her, I’m over the moon being with you, don’t worry about that. But… objectively, I’m still attracted to girls.” He sat up a little to look over Mickey’s shoulder, “Does that make sense?”</p><p>The dark-haired boy nodded slowly, biting his lower lip a little.</p><p>“I just wanted you to know that. I’m not… looking for anyone else, but… I’m a little more aware of what I am. And I wanted you to be the first to know.” Desperately, Ian searched Mickey’s avoidant eyes for confirmation that he was he understood what he was telling him. “Come on, talk to me.” Ian had climbed over Mickey’s body to face him, feeling himself balancing on the edge of the bed.</p><p>“I think… it feels hard because it took seein’ your ex to realise you’re still into chicks, and a little part of me says that that means you’re still into her.” Mickey put a finger over Ian’s lips when he went to speak, shushing the younger boy, “I know you’re not, I believe you. I’m just sayin’, this is what my anxiety wants me to believe. It’s just something I need to accept in myself, and I’m sure it’s worse because of the whole chick part in the story that my head is doin’ it.” Mickey sighed defeatedly, “But I trust you.”</p><p>“I love you,” Ian expressed as he leaned in to kiss his boyfriend, biting his lower lip as he allowed his hands to roam his soft hair. He moaned into Mickey’s mouth as he heard Mickey whispering the requited endearment against his lips.</p><p>With all his might, Ian tried to show Mickey how much he meant to him that night with every part of his body. His hands were tentative, constantly touching parts of Mickey and responding to his reactions. Whilst they kissed, Ian’s hands tangled through his hair and caressed his cheeks. When Mickey arched his back, Ian placed a hand beneath to support him. As Mickey desperately himself against Ian’s cock, he stretched him out well in preparation. And when Mickey’s breathing became shallower and more desperate, Ian jerked Mickey’s orgasms from deep inside him.</p><p>When Mickey had gone to the bathroom to clean himself off, Ian had reached for his phone and shakily pressed a few buttons before Mickey’s phone had vibrated from where it sat on the bedside table.</p><p>“Your phone went off,” Ian declared when his boyfriend returned. His boyfriend had shrugged his shoulders, deciding it could wait. “I think… maybe you might want to check it,” he suggested, averting his eyes from Mickey’s rousing suspicion in the older boy.</p><p>Mickey sat himself on the edge of the bed, and Ian bit his lip with worry as he watched his boyfriend unlock his phone to read the notification.</p><p>
  <em>Ian Clayton Gallagher sent you a request.</em>
</p><p>With sceptical eyes, Mickey clicked on the Facebook request to open up a box that showed Ian’s name and profile picture, and next to it was a small red heart emoji and the words <em>Relationship request</em> besides Facebook’s common confirm or ignore buttons.</p><p>Ian allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief when he saw Mickey bite his lip before pressing the confirm button and discarding of his phone to pull his goofy boyfriend into a soft, appreciative kiss, knowing how big a step that was for Ian Clayton Gallagher and some eight hundred Facebook friends.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: vomiting, over-thinking, anxiety</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Mister Officially Gay has entered the building,” Lindsay called out for the entire workshop to hear as Mickey walked in, earning a few wolf whistles mixed in with a small round of applause.</p><p>He waved his middle finger at Lindsay playfully as he responded, “Been officially gay since two thousand and one, bitches,” walking through to the staff room to pull his pants off and his overalls on, tying the sleeves about his waist.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoop whoop, managed to get another one out before I have to pick up on studying again.</p><p>I hope everyone is staying safe during quarantine! Wash your hands, stay home, and try to help your vulnerable family/neighbours if you can. And PLEASE be nice and decent to any keyworkers you come in to contact with!</p><p>Anyways, this one has a little Spanish in it, so here are the translations.</p><p>Puto – fucker<br/>No tienes los cojones decírmelo antes del internet? – Don’t you have the balls to tell me before the internet?<br/>En mi cabeza – on my head<br/>Cola – a homophobic slur literally translating to ‘tail,’ a man who likes to be anally penetrated<br/>Puta madre - motherfucker<br/>Voy a destruir tu vida patética – I’m going to destroy your pathetic life</p><p>Anywho, hit me up with your thoughts on here or my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - or with prompts etc. Alternatively, just follow me because I'm fucking hilarious and think of weird shit in the wee hours :L</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His alarm rang too loudly, but not for long as Ian reached one of his gangly arms over him to swipe away the offending noise, pressing a kiss against the nape of his neck. It sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. And then blood followed the shiver south.</p><p>“Mornin’,” Mickey mumbled as he turned over to face the freckled boy, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.</p><p>“Shh, sleeping,” Ian muttered, his eyes remaining closed as he spoke.</p><p>He scoffed before speaking, “Fuck that, sleepin’ is the only time you shut up – I already know you’re lyin’!”</p><p>Ian hummed in thought for a moment before explaining “My eyes are sleeping – your hot ass is exhausting them.”</p><p>“Understandable.” Mickey slipped between Ian’s arms and beneath the comforter to see Ian as naked as the day he was born, his cock sporting a semi. “Dick ain’t sleepin’…”</p><p>“My dick and mouth are the only awake parts of me I think.”</p><p>That was more than enough for Mickey to shuffle lower and begin to work Ian’s cock to full hardness before tonguing at the tip, licking thin, teasing circles or pressing firmly over the slit. It wasn’t long before Ian’s hands were no longer sleeping, running through his hair as he moaned and whispered appreciatively. His second alarm going off, and once again being turned off by his boyfriend, prompted the fact that he needed to be at work at seven and it was already five past six.</p><p>The teasing was soon gone, and Mickey was all but swallowing Ian deep into his throat as he hungrily bobbed his head, his tongue flat against the bottom of Ian’s cock, applying a confident pressure to the thick vein that ran the impressive length. Listening to Ian’s breathy moans was the best way to spend his time before work. Slowing his movements for a moment, Mickey swirled his tongue around the head of his boyfriend’s cock, slipping his finger into the corner of his mouth at the same time briefly before wrapping his arm behind Ian to bring him to orgasm all the sooner, hooking his middle finger expertly.</p><p>“<em>Good morning</em>,” Ian laughed, his breathing beginning to regulate as Mickey shimmied upwards for a chaste kiss. “Need me to…?”</p><p>Shaking his head as he heaved himself from the comfort of the bed, he replied, “No time, need to be at work by seven for my first solo service,” pulling on clothes and heading for the bathroom hastily. In record time, he had peed, washed his face, put deodorant on, brushed his teeth, and gelled his hair back semi-neatly. When he went to the kitchen to quickly make a sandwich, he saw Ian stood in his boxers doing it for him, cutting the P.B.J. into triangles and wrapping the segmented sandwich in foil for Mickey to appreciatively take and pop a quick kiss on his lips before speed-walking out of the house. “Love ya’!”</p><p>His hasty morning routine allowed Mickey to walk to work, not wanting to work up a sweat to then have to step into an even-hotter pair of overalls. With only another few weeks maybe before the summer heat would begin to disappear, Mickey was looking forward to it. A winter boyfriend would be nice to go for adventures along snowy trails with and sip on hot cocoa with under blankets, something he had never been able to do with Jake due to the secret nature of their relationship. It would be nice to be able to rewrite the shitty memories that made holidays unenjoyable, to allow them to be celebrations rather than grievances. </p><p>“Mister Officially Gay has entered the building,” Lindsay called out for the entire workshop to hear as Mickey walked in, earning a few wolf whistles mixed in with a small round of applause.</p><p>He waved his middle finger at Lindsay playfully as he responded, “Been officially gay since two thousand and one, bitches,” walking through to the staff room to pull his pants off and his overalls on, tying the sleeves about his waist.</p><p>“We hire any younger we’ll need booster seats to pull ‘em up on to the ramps,” an older mechanic, John, called out as he stood beneath a red pick-up.</p><p>“Mickey here already needs one!” A blond guy a few years older than Mickey answered. His overalls read ‘Richard,’ but his selective ears only responded to Rick. He was probably Mickey’s favourite guy in the place so far.</p><p>Making a slight detour from his route to the Astra he was to service, the Milkovich boy gave Rick a short, sharp punch to the bicep as he responded, “Bitch, my feet still reach the peddles and dick leaves a dent in the seat, I’m good.”</p><p>“Yell that near any customers and we’ll have a compo’ claim for lumpy seats,” Paul laughed as he stood at the blue Astra, waiting for his apprentice. When Mickey grinned at the older man and waggled his eyebrows, excitement bouncing about his stomach, the older man began, “So, standard service: oil and filter, air filter, and levels-check. So, before we do anything, check your job card against your chassis. If you’re happy, we move on.”</p><p>Mickey accepted the piece of paper that listed the vehicle details, owner details, and planned services for the vehicle. “This says ‘extended service,’” he queried, looking to Hank for approval.</p><p>“Good,” his boss praised, “now go to Lindsay, get her to pull up the vehicle record, and see what that says. The system is always gospel.”</p><p>As Mickey stood at Lindsay’s desk waiting, biting his thumb nail, the blonde ushered him over to look at her screen, pointing to a small section within the vehicle notes that had dates against pieces of information, “They wanted the extended initially and then changed to the standard when they dropped it in. This part here has the notes in, so if anything changes about the vehicle or new info comes in from the owner, let me know exactly so I can update it. Just covers our asses.” She handed him the job card back with a smile.</p><p>“Standard it is then,” Paul then explained how Mickey had to write a note on the job card of the change and get it initialled against by Lindsay to confirm the alteration. “So, we’re happy that the job card matches the services requested. Talk me through your process, I’ll give any feedback if needed, then you’ll take the wheel and I’ll observe. Now, kill it, kid.”</p><p>Getting praise for doing something well was a rarity for Mickey outside of a therapy situation, so to have Paul slapping him on the back and telling him what a quick study he was made Mickey feel warm and bubbly inside. Paul hadn’t had to stop Mickey once for a mistake, he had simply stood back and watched, nodding his approval. Sure, it was just a basic service, but it was a step in the right direction. Clearly, his boss thought the same.</p><p>Mickey was excited to tell Ian about how well his day had gone and his boss’ thoughts when he finished, pulling his phone from his locker to see a text from just the guy, clearly avoiding some of his studying that he had been doing at work.</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (14:32):</strong>
  <em> How’s work? Solo job go well?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (15:02):</strong>
  <em> Bossed that shit! Paul was basically polishing my ass!</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (15:08): </strong>
  <em>Well done, that’s awesome! Maybe I’ll polish it for you later after I study ;)</em>
</p><p>Mickey felt his cock twitch just a little at Ian’s insinuation and had to take a few cleansing breaths, not wanting the shtick of getting a boner in work that would follow from his co-workers.</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (15:09): </strong>
  <em>Remember how we weren’t gonna spend time together as much so you could study?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (15:14):</strong>
  <em> The mind is willing, but the body is weak! Anyway, I’ll speak later as I’m covering the ‘summer rush’ alone. Love you, my little grease monkey</em>
</p><p><em>Grease monkey</em>, Mickey thought the phrase over for a moment. Maybe his overalls would need a trip home for a wash sometime. <em>Fuck</em>, he looked down to see the semi in his pants. He stood for a moment and closed his eyes, thinking of the time he had walked in on his parents fucking (if it could have been seen as that with the force that had been behind Terry’s hands and the rage behind his eyes) and gradually felt his cock softening.</p><p>His mind clearly focused on sex today, he took the opportunity to leave with his dignity intact, shouting a quick goodbye as he exited the building and made for the Kash and Grab, intending to surprise his boyfriend.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The ‘summer rush,’ as Ian referred to it, was when it seemed to pick up as though school were finishing, when, in reality, kids were on their way home from playing or had annoyed their parents enough for the morning and afternoon that they were told to go and get some candy to give their parents ten minutes of peace. It was very same-ish, where he tended to see the same children who came in for the same snacks</p><p>It had been running smoothly until the door was slammed open with such a force that Ian was sure he would need to let Kash know to check the hinges. He turned from the little girl he was serving to yell at the punk kid that thought he was the Hulk going at the door like that when he was greeted by Daya, her eyes blown with a rage that had turned her cheeks almost crimson.</p><p>“Ian-fucking-Gallagher, are you serious, <em>puto</em>?” The Latina began yelling, walking around the counter to look up into Ian’s eyes as she raged at him. “<em>No tienes los cojones decírmelo antes del internet</em>? Do I have ‘mug’ written <em>en</em> <em>mi cabeza</em>? Because I certainly fucking <em>look</em> like one to every fucker on Facebook!”</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. Ian hadn’t even considered how Daya would be affected by the relationship status update, he had simply focused on Mickey. He had left his ex with the talks of ‘everything changing’ and then him having a panic attack and demanding she leave. Never had he intended to hurt her, but by the looks of her, as she waved her arms and stabbed her finger into his chest, he had managed to do so.</p><p>As he tried to utter out… anything, his hands shook, and he felt himself taking a step back with every sharp stab of Daya’s extensions. His throat felt like it was constricting, like each breath he tried to take contained even less oxygen than the last one.</p><p>“I’m the fucking laughing stock – ‘the girl who turns guys gay’! If you really loved me, you would have fucking spoken to me, rather than being the pussy-ass bitch you are!” Ian’s back was against the shelving. “Fucking <em>cola</em>! <em>Puta madre</em>!” Daya’s own voice was shadowed by tears that sat at the back of her throat as she slapped and punched at his chest. With nowhere else to go, he felt himself shrinking down into the floor, his eyes becoming glazed over with tears. “<em>Voy a </em>destruir <em>tu vida patética</em>!”</p><p>As his body shook with guilt and hurt, Ian put his head into his hands, no longer registering the hits that Daya was dishing out until they had stopped, and a familiar voice had carried over hers.</p><p>“’Ey, you need to fuckin’ <em>stop</em>, bitch.” His boyfriend’s voice was low as Ian looked up to see his arms wrapped around the slim girl, pinning her arms to her side. He walked them out from behind the counter, allowing Ian space to breathe as he continued, ignoring Daya’s protests, “I don’t care who the fuck you are or what you think he did to you, the dude is on the floor havin’ a freakin’ panic attack! Just… get the fuck outta’ here before I set Mandy on you.”</p><p>Mickey shoved her away with minimal force, but enough to see the petite girl stumble and struggle to steady herself before leaving the store and yelling “<em>Putos</em>,” behind her.</p><p>“You okay, Ian?” Mickey was crouching down in front of him, a hand on his knee.</p><p>It wasn’t as bad as last time. Hearing Mickey’s voice as he had stopped Daya had helped him feel grounded. Whilst Mickey had dealt with his ex, he had allowed himself to focus on Mickey, attempting to reign in his breathing as he thought of Mickey’s promise to him: <em>I won’t let anyone hurt you again.</em></p><p>Shakily, his breaths deep and forced, Ian nodded his head, looking deep into his boyfriend’s captivating, blue eyes.</p><p>“You got this,” Mickey encouraged, allowing him to continue to pull himself from his minor anxiety attack, brushing the pad of his thumb over the few stray tears that sat atop his strong cheekbones. It took a few more minutes, but Ian managed to successfully bring himself down, resting his head back against the shelving unit behind him as Mickey squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I’m real proud of ya’, man. It’s hard to ground on your own.”</p><p>“I thought about you,” Ian mumbled, clearing his throat before he made a move to stand up, feeling himself fall into Mickey’s touch, the hand that sat on his back gently. He scrubbed his palms over his eyes before walking round to the refrigerators to get a bottle of water and take a long, much-needed gulp. “You got a dollar on you, Mi-” Ian stopped when he saw a young girl crouched behind the shelves, grasping her tube of Pringles to her chest. “Hey, you okay, honey?” He crouched beside the brunette girl. She shrugged slightly. “I’m sorry if you were here for all of that.” Standing up, he extended a hand to the small girl, helping her up after she had hesitantly accepted. “You get home, yeah? Pringles are on me.” When the girl nodded and grinned at him, he returned the sentiment and waved her off with a smile.</p><p>Ian then walked back to the counter – to his boyfriend – and spoke softly, “You got four bucks I can borrow? Sorry, all of last week’s wages had to go straight into the squirr-”</p><p>“It’s fine, man, you don’t gotta’ explain it to me.” Mickey smiled as he shook off Ian’s rambling, pulling his wallet from his pants to hand Ian a five-dollar bill to put in the register. When the ginger boy handed him the dollar change, Mickey accepted it, tucked into the waistband of Ian’s jeans, and winked at him as he spoke, “Buy yourself somethin’ nice, toots.”</p><p>Ian yanked the note from his pants as he laughed through his blush, poking it into Mickey’s pants pocket before giving him the middle finger and pressing a hasty kiss against his lips.</p><p>Mickey had stayed at the Kash and Grab for another half an hour before he had been told to go home and catch some rest by Ian, promising that he would be fine for the last two hours of his shift and he would text if he wasn’t. He had managed to get another week’s worth of English notes done through the duration of his long working day. Kash had noticed Ian sat at the desk with his head in his notes and asked what he was doing when there was stock to be put out.</p><p>“I worked it all earlier, it’s all leftovers. I was just doing some of my make-up work so I don’t have to repeat sophomore year.” Ian paused for a moment, biting his lip, “I wouldn’t sit here if there was work to do, I promise. And… it won’t be a regular thing – I need it all done by the time school starts back up.”</p><p>Kash nodded his head and offered Ian a soft smile, “As long as you’re not taking the piss with breaks and stock <em>is</em> all worked, I’m cool with it. Linda said that inventory has been perfect on all your shifts, so… just keep up the good work, Ian.”</p><p>The acknowledgement that he was doing well was nice, but getting home that night to a plate of dinner in the microwave and the peace in his room to clear three weeks of Spanish notes and bust out his essay for the class too felt even better. Sure, he would have liked to have been able to finish work and spend the evening with Mickey, but actions always had consequences, and Ian was gradually making up for his. He wouldn’t let Monica’s shitty genes ruin his high school career, so he had to make the effort to get everything done and perfect, to prove to everyone that he wasn’t Monica and that he could rise to the occasion when it was necessary.</p><p>Once again, he allowed himself to lay in Frank’s – typically – empty room after showering and speak to Mickey, but this time with no sexual basis. He simply lay and listened to Mickey tell him about work and how some of his colleagues had asked them both out for drinks that Saturday. Ian explained that he would see where he was with his schoolwork, his boyfriend being more than understanding, and then said goodnight to go and make a dent in some more notes, pushing himself so that he could do a normal couple activity with his boyfriend. Only scheduled for a four-hour evening shift at work tomorrow, Ian pressed on until it was gone one in the morning before heading off to bed, feeling abuzz with how much progress he had made.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: panic attack, homophobic slur</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Well, fuckin’ hello to you too, bitch! Now, do you want a fuckin’ beer?”</p><p>“Fuck yeah I do! Fucking least you could do for me!” Before Mickey could close the refrigerator door and ask what the fuck she was on about, Mandy continued, “Because Ian’s whipped as hell, he roped Lip into tutoring him all day so that he can come to your pussy brigade drinks.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry about the delay, my Grease AU took longer, and then I needed a few me days. So, yeah, sorry about that.</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nine AM saw Fiona coming in to wake all of the boys, Ian definitely feeling the later-than-usual night as he sluggishly made his way to the bathroom. After getting himself ready for the day, he stumbled back into the bedroom to swat at Lip’s legs from where he had reburied himself within his sheets.</p><p>“Fuck off,” Lip mumbled, poking a hand out of his cocoon to offer the finger to whoever was trying to wake him. “What?” Lip’s voice raised when the covers were pulled sharply down the bed by his persistent brother.</p><p>“I need your help. Mickey and I got invited out on work drinks and I nee-” Ian began, his voice small as he spoke.</p><p>Burying his head beneath his pillows, Lip grumbled out “You already got a decent fake, man.”</p><p>“No, yeah, I know. It’s not that.” He continued as his brother had lifted the pillow from his head to look at him, curious of what Ian could need then. “It’s this school stuff, I need to get on top of it so that I can go. Can you maybe give me a hand with some of the science and math shit, that’s the stuff where I just need a little help with understanding the methods.”</p><p>The older brother ran a hand through his hair as he leant himself up on an elbow, “Mandy and me were gonna’ sneak into a movie, but…” He took a few breaths in before clicking his tongue, “Fuck it, I’m sure she’ll forgive me if I name-drop the prodigal brother.”</p><p>“You would be saving my ass,” Ian half-begged, his eyes big and pleading as he looked up to the most book-smart Gallagher in the family.</p><p>“You’re on breakfast duty while I shower the dirt off from digging my own grave with Mandy,” Lip sighed with a cheeky grin, running a hand through his hair.</p><p>“Deal,” Ian grinned, turning to pull on some sweatpants before heading downstairs at full speed.</p><p>As Ian swept around the kitchen, getting down in time to hear Fiona yelling goodbye and to watch Liam and the twins, he could hear the familiar thumping and creaking of Lip hopping down from his bunk and traipsing towards the bathroom. “I like my bacon crispy, my pancakes fluffy, and my eggs scrambled,” Lip hollered, his voice carrying down the staircase into the kitchen before the slam of the bathroom door dulled the hum of the shower. And that wasn’t the only noise within the Gallagher house, there was Carl smashing an Action Man doll against the step of the back porch and yelling ‘die’ loudly with each blow. Debbie could be heard aggressively tapping the keys on her non-smartphone to send a text to someone as she hummed along to whatever music channel she had on the TV.</p><p>“Hey, Debs, Carl, I got a favour to ask,” Ian called out, as he began to mix up a pancake batter. He saw heads poke around the doorways from either side and continued, “So, Lip basically needs to tutor me all day. Any chance that pancakes, bacon, and eggs could convince you to watch the kids and keep them quiet while we’re upstairs?”</p><p>At the mention of food, Carl was walking into the kitchen, staring into Ian’s batter mix as he queried, “Depends. Could there be some chocolate chip pancakes?”</p><p>“You drive a hard bargain,” Ian hummed, stepping away from the mixture to put a hand on his hip, feigning thought, “but I guess there could, cupboards permitting.”</p><p>“Huh?” Carl looked at his older brother dumbfounded.</p><p>Debbie piped up, stepping into the kitchen herself. “He means that if we have chocolate chips, he can do it, but if not then no.” She walked closer to Ian and shrugged as she nodded, her curls bouncing about her face.</p><p>He had missed his siblings whilst in hospital, but particularly Debbie and her consistent positivity and helpfulness. She was like a ray of sunshine when things got difficult, a warmth when that uncomfortable chill sat beneath one’s skin. For sure, she was the most positive of the Gallagher siblings, constantly capable of casting a cautious optimism on those who probably didn’t deserve it, but grown-up enough to begin to know when her kindness had been manipulated.</p><p>“Thanks, guys,” Ian grinned his appreciation as he stepped aside to dig out some chocolate chips, finding a bag tucked beside the squirrel fund tin. “You’re in luck, Carl,” he grinned, waving the bag in the air, the younger boy punching the air and yelling out a ‘hell, yeah’ in response as he exited the kitchen.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s right!” Lip stood over his brother’s shoulder as he watched Ian complete his final answer on a geometry question in his make-up workbook. “The only thing is that you lose a mark if you don’t make sure that you put your answer in the correct unit. So, like, yeah, all your equations and uses of ‘X’ are right, but your ‘X’ is actually representative of the number of jellyfish in the sea. So your final answer would be seventy thousand jellyfish, <em>not</em> ‘X equals seventy thousand’.”</p><p>“Oh, shit, yeah,” Ian did as instructed, resisting the temptation to draw a little accompanying jellyfish.</p><p>Whilst Ian had done the dishes after breakfast, Lip had spent a good half an hour flying through his math notes to pick through the spiel and find what methodology Ian needed to be taught. With a cigarette perched between his lips, he had declared that, provided Ian was pretty confident on the stuff he had done before the hospital, they could get everything math-wise studied and done by the time he went to work. It would be a long day, but Ian would take it if it meant an entire subject was covered on notes and make-up work.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>“Ass-head,” Mickey was greeted with as he walked in from work Tuesday afternoon to see his sister slouched on the couch.</p><p>Throwing his hands up in the air, he yelled back at her as he continued to the refrigerator. “Well, fuckin’ hello to you too, bitch! Now, do you want a fuckin’ beer?”</p><p>“Fuck yeah I do! Fucking least you could do for me!” Before Mickey could close the refrigerator door and ask what the fuck she was on about, Mandy continued, “Because Ian’s whipped as hell, he roped Lip into tutoring him all day so that he can come to your pussy brigade drinks.”</p><p>Shoving his sister’s feet off of the couch so he could sit down, he handed her a bottle of beer before sitting and taking a sip of his own. “Okay, what the fuck are you on about ‘pussy brigade’? Do you mean my work drinks?” The brunette girl gave a nod, the bottle attached to her lips. Mickey grinned to himself, biting at his bottom lip as he felt his insides flutter a little.</p><p>“Get that fucking grin off your face! Yes, it’s cute, but it ruined my day, so you don’t get to be giddy.” Mickey saw her chance a sideward glance at him before punching his arm hard. “It’s your fault.” She offered a half-smile, letting him know that she wasn’t truly angry with him. “Umm, gotta’ tell you something though.” He noticed the instant tone-change and turned to look at her with a deadpan expression. “Umm, I got a call from D.A. Flores earlier today. They have a date… it’s next Wednesday. Make sure you let work know as we’ve both gotta’ be there to testify.”</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>A date made it feel real. He wouldn’t be in an interrogation room with an understanding detective, but instead a courtroom full of people and a defence attorney who would attempt to rip him to pieces. There would also be his father and Jake’s mom. And he wasn’t sure which of the latter two would be more difficult to have looking at him as he tried to get his father locked up for the rest of his miserable life.</p><p>“I… yeah, I’ll…” Mickey drained his bottle before moving to the kitchen to retrieve another beer, popping off the top before he pulled his phone out to text his boss.</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (15:40):</strong>
  <em> Hey man, got a hearing date for Wednesday 4<sup>th</sup> of next month. Not sure of time but I’ll let you know when I speak to the DA</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Paul (15:56):</strong>
  <em> Don’t worry about it, I’ll get Lindsay to book you out for the day. You can use a vacation day or take it unpaid. But don’t try to come in, that shit is going to be rough – don’t want you dropping a car on yourself because your head ain’t there! </em>
</p><p>Mickey really had gotten lucky with this apprenticeship. Paul was an awesome boss – and totally understanding – he really couldn’t have asked for more. He quickly responded to say his thanks and that he would take a vacation day and then threw his phone on to his bedside table, deciding a shower and nap would be the best plan of action, hoping to steady the nerves that he knew would fester within him until the trial.</p><p>In himself, he knew that he probably needed to reach out to Ian, to let him know about the trial and his worries and fears, but a part of him felt sick at the selfishness. Ian would, of course, come to him in a heartbeat if he knew that his boyfriend needed support, but he knew that that could cause Ian to risk his school catch-up work. And Mickey would not make Ian compromise his education and lose another year of his life having to retake his sophomore year. No, the younger boy had already lost enough, he didn’t need Mickey causing the list to grow.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Ian raised a hand as he left the Kash and Grab, telling his boss that he would be back for the second half of his shift after his therapy session. He felt indifferent about the appointments every week. It wasn’t that he didn’t get along with his therapist, Clive, but more that the older man wasn’t Tanya. The grey man didn’t understand how far Ian had come in accepting his diagnosis and working to control it, how he had worked to rebuild the relationship and trust between him and his family. The list could go on forever, but it seemed petty to try and list the reasons why he didn’t get on with his therapist.</p><p>Instead, when he got into the session, Clive briefly greeted him before going in strong and hard: “Ian, I know that you had a very strong connection with your previous therapist and made excellent progress, but I need you to understand that I can only truly help you if you are honest and open with me. Total transparency is what builds a good relationship.” He must have noticed the heat that had crept up Ian’s neck, how he jutted his chin out, all but prepared to deny the fact. “It’s fine, it’s common in patients who transition from previous therapists,” Clive smiled warmly, “especially when they have had such success with the predecessor. But… I’d like you to voice all of your concerns and reluctancies so we can work past them.”</p><p>“It’s not… I’m sorry.” Ian began, his tone quickly offering up defeat. “I feel I need to explain to you about Monica, about what exactly she is to me, and about what I had to go through to get here.”</p><p>Clive nodded his head, placing his notepad down as a gesture of his full attention. “I completely agree. Obviously, I have your history, but I don’t understand how that fully affected you to know how that comes in to play at present. Whatever you feel will help this to be a more engaging and beneficial client-therapist relationship I will willingly hear. After all, I’m here to help you, so I’m happy to allow you control over the content of our sessions.”</p><p>And so, Ian began to explain the history of Hurricane Monica and her impact on his life, his initial view – and rejection – of his diagnosis, and his fears and worries of how he could potentially hurt those around him.</p><p>“And how do you feel about your diagnosis now?” Clive asked after allowing his patient a minute to reflect on what he had just explained.</p><p>“I… I’m at peace with it... enough. But… I think it makes me angrier at Monica with how well I’m doing, I guess. I mean, I know I’m not a walking representation of recovery with all the shitty scars and stuff,” Ian subconsciously pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, the angry, red and pink scars feeling a fire licking up his arms, “but… I’m trying. I take my meds and attend the sessions. I try to be good for everyone. But she makes no effort and still expects forgiveness and us to welcome her with these… naïve, open arms.” His voice more raised and his hands shaking, the ginger boy continued, “I’ve worked hard for this shit! But she’s still in the back of my mind… like a reminder of what I could be at any minute if I don’t notice the signs.”</p><p>Nodding his balding, grey head, Clive sympathised with his patient, “I can only imagine how hard it must be for you. But I wanted to ask,” he paused briefly, contemplating phrasing, “you said that you ‘try to be good for everyone,’ but what about yourself? Is none of this for you?”</p><p>“I…” Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Ian hesitated in thought. It should be about him primarily, not as an afterthought. He should be his primary focus… but he wasn’t. Mickey was. “I guess it is for me… but off-handedly. Like, Mickey is my initial thought when it comes to being better. I think maybe that’s because he makes me better, but he’s also there to recognise when I’m not good and help me get back to me.” Ian summarised: “I love him.”</p><p>Clive briefly spoke further on the matter, advising Ian that this was not uncommon within love, but that he should allow himself to prioritise his health for himself and nobody else. He had tasked him with finding one thing each day that he did for himself and not for anyone else’s motives and that they would then discuss them next week. “That is time for today, Ian, but we can continue next week or broach a new topic.”</p><p>“Thanks… Clive. I… think this session helped.” He smiled weakly, accepting the man’s hand to shake it.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it, Ian. Have a good week. And remember that if you notice any changes or have any concerns that you may be off balance, don’t hesitate to call and make an appointment. Remember to collect your medication. I’ve renewed it for another two weeks.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>As Ian walked across town back towards work, he thought about what Clive had asked him to do and thought about what he truly did for himself and nobody else. He went to work out of necessity for his family, not to pay for driving lessons or concert tickets like most kids his age. Sure, he managed to get a little spending money for himself out of it, but it wasn’t respective of the amount he worked. Studying was something that maybe he did do for himself, but he did it out of obligation to get an education. The make-up work to not have to retake his sophomore year was maybe for his pride he guessed. Really, work and studying were the only aspects of his life right now, and they seemed to not entirely be for himself. But Friday would be for himself. It would be for Mickey too, but it would be more for Ian because it would be a night of freedom. His aim was to have his studying completed by then, and he was on track for it. He only had his book report to write for his English class, three weeks of Chemistry notes, and the Chemistry write-up he had to do in preparation for an experiment he would do during Study Hall when he got back. Aside from the book report, Lip had said that they could cram it all in later that evening and on Friday after work.</p><p>If someone were to ask him how he had managed to complete the insane amount of work in such a short amount of time, Ian would point to the deep bags beneath his eyes that clashed with the green they supported. Lip would be the other reason, being a godsend of a tutor for his more objective classes. The final element would be his boyfriend and the support and faith that he had in him, the way that he had upheld his side of giving Ian space, even when it could be torture for him, and the way he made Ian want to be his best self.</p><p>Ian may not have done a lot directly for himself, but he had a lot of people who loved him and would do things for him. And that meant more in the world to him than any amount of money or autonomy over his life. Coming from a family like his, he had learned quickly that loving and being loved was what was most important, and was one of the only things that had managed to keep them all together through the shit the Gallagher children had endured over the years, along with alcohol and nicotine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, mention of scars</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mickey let his tongue tease around the rim of his empty bottle, his eyes trained on Ian’s green ones. “Eight.” The dare sat there in his voice as he continued his slow countdown. It was a struggle to maintain the straight, menacing expression as Ian jolted to life when he realised it was a timer.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Little bit of angst to come but nothing major. Then just more of my drunken babies being all cute and sociable with people out of their immediate family. </p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought! And hit up my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - because I'm just fucking hilarious/stupid/idk!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With only his book report left to write – something that he could do with his eyes closed – Ian went to the public library to check out a copy of <em>Great Expectations</em> after he and Lip had finally finished off his Chemistry work. Knowing the book very well from his time in the hospital, especially when he would reread passages because Mickey had taken it to read himself and then put his own dogear in or removed Ian’s, it would be an easy task. The book tucked in his waistband, and a grin plastered across his tired face, he made a brief pitstop on his way back to the Gallagher home, stopping into an off-licence to pick up a crate of Budweiser.</p><p>Ian Gallagher was celebrating completing his studies (book report aside).</p><p>With the crate under his arm, Ian slipped his phone from his pocket to dial his boyfriend’s number, a cheesy grin plastered across his face. “Hey, stranger,” he joked when his call was answered. Before Mickey could speak, he was continuing, “So, guess who only has one pissy little book report left to write in the next week? This guy!”</p><p>“Yeah? That’s awesome, Ian! I’m proud of ya’, man!” Mickey returned, his voice sounding foreign to Ian after not hearing it since Monday.</p><p>Ian’s grin stretched a little more at Mickey’s praise before he made his way to the point of his phone call: “Anyways, yeah, so I’m thinking I want drinks tonight. But not family, just you and me. I wanna’ be drunk with you without anyone else.”</p><p>There was a slight hesitation from the Milkovich boy that wore both of their hearts on his sleeve. “I… yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Pizza at mine? Sure I can handle Iggy if you can get Lip to invite Mandy over.”</p><p>“Awesome!”</p><p>“Bring somethin’ pretty for tomorrow night – I wanna’ show you off!”</p><p>The reluctance in his boyfriend’s voice had diminished, but that didn’t mean that Ian wouldn’t manage to tease out whatever worried him later on. He agreed to do as asked and bade his boyfriend farewell, popping his phone into his pocket as he walked up the path to his home. Sure, he had tried to make an effort to check in and text Mickey through the week, but his boyfriend had been short in his responses, often on the brink of falling asleep or so busy he was nearly dropping on his feet, and Ian had not been much better himself to manage to stay up late enough for a call.</p><p>Hearing the undertones of hurt that had laced his boyfriend’s voice made him feel guilty for not reading more into his minimal texts, for not noticing the change in the older boy. But he had been more distant so that he could spend more time with him, Ian reminded himself. Anything that was troubling him, Ian would broach, and they would try to combat it together.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The excitement that bubbled in Mickey’s stomach over the fact that Ian was coming over almost bordered on making him puke, the anticipation of seeing his boyfriend in the flesh so high; being able to hold him, feeling the comfort that he had needed throughout the week.</p><p>When he opened the door to see a goofy, grinning Ian staring back at him, a crate of beer under one arm and a backpack hanging from the other, he had to resist throwing himself at him and instead took the drinks from him to put in the fridge. As soon as he had disposed of the alcohol, he was biting his tongue to remain calm and not run back through to his boyfriend, instead walking with his natural, happy swagger and wrapping his arms about the taller boy’s waist, allowing himself to fall against his chest and inhale the citrus smell that Ian seemed to radiate.</p><p>“Missed you,” Mickey mumbled into Ian’s blue t-shirt, squeezing tighter than necessary to reiterate his words.</p><p>Ian grunted and chuckled out, “I miss breathing…” When Mickey released Ian’s waist and stretched to press a kiss against his lips, Ian breathed back against his boyfriend’s lips “I missed you, too.” Those words were like a warmth that spread throughout Mickey’s insides.</p><p>“Still can’t believe you wouldn’t even let me get pineapple on <em>half</em>,” Ian grumbled as he took a bite of the meat feast pizza, regarding his carnivorous boyfriend with a frown.</p><p>“Juices, man. Juices,” was all Mickey garbled through a mouthful of food, a shrug accompanying his dismissive tone. He washed the pizza crust back with a long gulp of beer as he reached for another slice. But he dropped it as he felt Ian’s hand catch his wrist, pulling it closer to examine what Mickey had tried to ignore.</p><p>Ian’s hands traced over the bruises and cuts that shaded Mickey’s knuckles a mixture of purples and blues that spread into browns and yellows, cuts littered across the edges haphazardly. “Mickey,” Ian was wary as he spoke, his voice cautious and questioning, “what happened this week?” He held Mickey’s shaking hand in his own, trailing aimless patterns over it.</p><p>Briefly, Mickey tugged at his hand before sighing and speaking in the direction of the now-forgotten pizza that sat on the couch between them. “The trial is Wednesday…”</p><p>No words were required for Ian to show Mickey how he understood; he simply moved the pizza box to the coffee table and moved to pull his boyfriend against his chest, rubbing a hand up and down his back comfortingly. “Did you talk to your therapist about…?” He brushed a thumb lightly against one of Mickey’s bruised hands.</p><p>“Mhmm,” he hummed as he allowed himself to be held, taking solace in the concern that his boyfriend showed for him. “I… wanted to talk to ya’, but… I didn’t wanna’ distract ya’ from your school shit…” Mickey’s voice was small and begging for forgiveness.</p><p>“You could’ve spoken to me about anything,” Ian explained, “I would’ve been here in a heartbeat. School stuff is for me to worry about,” he lifted Mickey’s face, cupping his cheeks in his large hands, “not you. I will always be there when you need me. Always, Mickey. I promise.”</p><p>Nodding lightly, Mickey hummed his appreciation as he expressed the same sentiment in a soft, shaky whisper. The pressure from Ian’s sweet lips on his own was gratefully accepted and returned tenderly. Bruised hands brushed through red hair as the kiss became deeper, Mickey leaning forward to press himself against his boyfriend’s chest and apply enough of his weight that they fell back against the arm of the couch.</p><p>Before clothes could be removed after the kiss had become more lustful and hands more explorative, Ian put a hand on Mickey’s chest and asked, “You got a deck of cards?”</p><p>The unimpressed look on the older boy’s face was priceless. “You got a death wish? ‘Cause my dick is harder than my fuckin’ head!”</p><p>“So… you don’t wanna’ play Fuck the Dealer?” Ian’s eyes were hooded as one side of his mouth pulled in to a half-smile.</p><p>Mickey’s eyes lit up before he answered, “’Course I do, man! But what do cards gotta’ do with fuckin?”</p><p>“Get them and you’ll see!” The final word was exaggerated in a sing-song voice that had Mickey pushing himself off of his boyfriend to run to him room and dig out a shabby deck of cards. “Also, do you have anything to shot?” He asked when the resident Milkovich handed him the cards and went to plonk himself in the seat beside him. He received a frown as Mickey stopped himself before his behind could hit the couch, ambling into the kitchen to grab the bottle of Jack Daniels from atop the refrigerator.</p><p>“So, when do we fuck?” Mickey asked as he took his card from the top of the deck and kept it shielded from Ian.</p><p>“Nine,” Ian said after a moment of thought, ignoring Mickey’s question to take a drink of his beer.</p><p>Mickey scowled at Ian, throwing his card at him and taking the whiskey from the table to swig a shot’s worth.</p><p>“I just did it,” Ian grinned, “the fucking I mean.”</p><p>When his boyfriend’s features did not smooth out, Ian raised his eyebrows as he tried to bite back his smirk. He hated to admit it, but Ian looked crazy cute as his perfect teeth made his lower lip white. <em>Screw it!</em> With a warmth turning in his stomach, Mickey grasped at the blue shirt and pulled Ian towards himself and nipped at his plump bottom lip sharply, eliciting a small moan from the owner.</p><p>“Blue ball me and then sit there bitin’ your fuckin’ lip, man,” Mickey mumbled as he pulled back and thumbed at his own lip. And then as Ian let his tongue slip out from between his lips to lick and taste at the spot Mickey’s teeth had pierced, catching the beads of blood, the shorter boy groaned and ran a hand over his face, “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, man…”</p><p>It occurred to Mickey that his boyfriend knew what he was doing as he sat sideways on the couch, his back against the arm, as he stretched his legs out wider, resting his hand haphazardly on his thigh, letting it sit high and against the edge of his groin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” The ginger boy drawled, his firm features unmoving as he reached out for a card from the top of the deck.</p><p>A long pause sat in the air as Mickey’s jaw hung slightly, his mouth dry with want. He reached for the bottle of Jack on the coffee table to take a few large gulps, half-slamming it back on the table as a small grunt of satisfaction aired itself. “Ten.” Mickey’s lips were then wrapped tightly around his beer bottle, draining it as Ian indicated that the value of the card was higher. “Nine…”</p><p>“Nah, higher, Mick,” Ian laughed, his tongue poking out between his teeth with the grin.</p><p>Mickey let his tongue tease around the rim of his empty bottle, his eyes trained on Ian’s green ones. “Eight.” The dare sat there in his voice as he continued his slow countdown. It was a struggle to maintain the straight, menacing expression as Ian jolted to life when he realised it was a timer.</p><p>* * *</p><p><em>Oh shit, </em>Ian thought, his mind reeling at what could possibly follow. He had watched the long drain on the liquor that Mickey had taken, seen the teasing fire behind his eyes, and watched as he had all but rimmed his beer bottle.</p><p>“Seven.”</p><p>Discarding of the card he had been holding (the king of clubs) hastily and grabbing his own beer from its place on the coffee table, Ian made a dash for the back door in the kitchen. He heard Mickey’s call of ‘three’ as he was jumping the steps of the back porch and slowed to quickly finish his beer before dropping it to the dry, patchy grass and beginning to run when his boyfriend’s voice drew closer.</p><p>“Ian Gallagher, you messed with the wrong girl!” Mickey’s voice seemed too close all too quickly, and Ian chanced a look behind him see his boyfriend nearing him at an alarmingly quick speed for someone with such short legs.</p><p>As he willed his legs to go faster, his heart thumped heavily in his chest with anticipation of what was to come. He heard his own laughter echoing behind him, mixing in with his boyfriend’s that followed closely. The curiosity over Mickey’s suggestiveness during his countdown caused Ian to slow down slightly, wanting to know what the Milkovich boy had in mind. And he wasn’t disappointed as Mickey hauled himself at Ian’s body with full force, sending both of them to the floor with a joint <em>oof</em>.</p><p>“Think you bruised one of those shitty ribs of mine,” Ian groaned out from beneath the weight of Mickey.</p><p>“I’m gonna’ fuckin’ bruise somethin’,” Mickey promised as he ground against Ian’s ass, his breath hot against his left ear. He licked down the length of the shell of it before biting and sucking at the lobe. “Be lucky if you’ll be able to walk to the bar tomorrow…” The dark-haired boy slurred wetly.</p><p>“Holy shit, Mickey…” Ian breathed out. “Get off me so you can get in me.”</p><p>Everything that night was hard, fast, and alcohol-fuelled.</p><p>The next morning, Ian woke up sore in more places than he thought he had when he had initially woken up in the emergency room three and a half months ago after jumping out of the window whilst he was manic.</p><p>“Mornin’,” he mumbled as he woke in his boyfriend’s arms, their legs tangled together beneath the comforter. Mickey’s arms tightened around him and a kiss was pressed to the small spot behind his ear. “My ass hurts,” Ian grumbled as he turned in Mickey’s arms to look up to him with a small pout.</p><p>“Sorry, man. I don’t thi-” And then Mickey was almost throwing himself out of bed and running, the sound of doors being thrown open carrying throughout the Milkovich house. The sound of door-slamming was followed by the painful sounds of Mickey throwing up.</p><p>Instinctively, Ian was climbing out of bed and making his way to the kitchen (with very little grace) to get a glass of water before going to the bathroom, placing it on the floor beside his boyfriend. Painfully crouching down to rub Mickey’s back through the bitter dry-heaving that followed the clearing of the older boy’s stomach, Ian let out a small hiss of pain and a sharp “fuck”. Ian’s pain had the other occupant of the bathroom half-laughing before a rancid, bile-filled burp had Mickey groaning and hanging his head back over the toilet bowl.</p><p>“What you get for laughing at my ass ache,” Ian giggled as he playfully poked a finger at a grouchy Mickey’s side.</p><p>For another ten minutes, Mickey’s stomach continued to convulse and clench before he finally managed to reach down for the glass of water Ian had gotten him, taking a few small sips. “A bath helps,” Mickey mumbled before taking a slightly braver, large mouthful.</p><p>“You joining me?” The grin in Ian’s voice was evident as he stood to put the plug in the bathtub and turn on the hot tap.</p><p>He turned to look at Ian’s back, a soft frown on his brows as he spoke. “Only if ya’ leave out that flowery, girly shit Mandy uses,”</p><p>The cap had not yet been clicked back on the bubble bath when Mickey had begun speaking, but hearing his protests, Ian made a point of pouring almost half of the pink liquid into the stream of water. “Too late,” he declared, inhaling the scent of pomegranate and raspberry that began to fill the room. “But I’ve decided you are. You can massage my shoulders as an apology.”</p><p>Reaching out a hand to Ian from his place on the floor, Mickey looked to him earnestly and said, “Until your little semi-virgin ass becomes more well-adjusted, you’re only toppin’ when we’re wasted.” Squeezing Ian’s large, freckled hand, he raised an eyebrow cockily. “Can’t control this beast when booze is involved,” he gestured to his cock for emphasis.</p><p>“Try being a full-time beast,” Ian quipped before popping a sweet kiss on Mickey’s clammy forehead. “I’m getting coffees, your ass and ‘the beast’ better be in that fruity tub when I get back.”</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Mickey smiled at Ian from across the booth at Patsy’s Pies, his stomach grumbling at the thought of the pancakes and bacon he was going to order. “Fuckin’ cheeseball,” he sniggered as he felt the rubber of Ian’s sneaker rubbing up against his ankle, the younger boy smirking as he scrunched his nose in that adorable way that Mickey loved.</p><p>“Maybe, but I’m a cheeseball that you love, so that was pretty much a compliment.” A long, accusing finger pointed at Mickey across the table, the owner grinning as his eyebrows sat high on his forehead.</p><p>Deciding not to vocalise a response, Mickey simply caught a hold of Ian’s wrist and kept his hand in place so that he could lean forward and playfully snap at Ian’s finger with his teeth.</p><p>“Fucking piranha,” Ian groused as he didn’t snatch his hand away, instead smiling softly as Mickey lowered their hands on top of the table and kept his bruised, tattooed hand sit on top of the freckled one. “I swear your teeth are filed into weapons like in <em>The Hunger Games</em> or something,” he mused as he picked up a menu with his free hand to scan for any new items before placing it down and engaging Mickey in a staring contest.</p><p>The pair were interrupted by a large woman with a curly, brown bob standing at their table and talking all too excitedly. “Ian! How’ve you been? Fiona said you were home now!”</p><p>Mickey watched as the woman’s eyes flitted down to Ian’s exposed arms before going to Mickey’s own scarred arms and then back up to Ian’s eyes. And Ian did too as he snatched his hand away to pull both arms close to his body and his hands beneath the table. “Fine. Thanks, Wanda.” Ian mumbled out, not meeting her curious, snooping eyes.</p><p>“Could we just get a couple chocolate shakes and two orders of the bacon and chocolate chip pancakes?” The anger that bubbled within Mickey as he watched his boyfriend’s discomfort becoming more of an issue made him spit out their order with a sarcastic smile, his brash tone causing Wanda to quickly scurry away.</p><p>Ian still wore hoodies to work, tried to not let his arms linger for too long when paying in stores, and kept his arms flat against his chest when he sent a text in public, but he was getting a little more relaxed about the burning lines that littered his arms. Mickey made a point of never covering his arms when the pair of them went out, wanting to make Ian feel at ease enough to do the same. And today had been the first day Mickey had seen the younger boy not hesitate at the front door to contemplate running in to grab the material that would hide his worries.</p><p>And he supposed that all of that progress would be wasted thanks to one nosy bitch.</p><p>“Hey. You’re fine,” Mickey placed a hand out across the table as an invitation for his boyfriend, a genuine, slightly sympathetic smile stretching across his lips; “don’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”</p><p>Ian’s eyes darted about to look at the neighbouring booths before he settled a hand on top of Mickey’s tensely, returning a weaker smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: implied self-harm (punching walls, bruised/cut hands), minor reference to manic behaviour, mention of self-harm scars</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mickey’s grin as Ian winked at him was cheeky as he replied, “Ya’ drive a hard bargain, Gallagher.” And then he was untangling himself from the redhead and turning him away from the sink to face him. “Now, let the master of the quiff get to work,” his grin stretched across his face even more as he reached behind to pull his wax from the bathroom cabinet.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This week has been a busy one for me with The Secret Love of Pets uploads over the past three days, hence the delay for this. But here we go, have a chapter!</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It felt like the walls were closing in on him and Mickey was the only thing stopping them from fully crushing him in to the insignificant ball of mush that he felt like. His boyfriend kept him anchored to the table, stopping him from pulling his hands away as much as he wanted to, and tried to keep his attention focused on him. The latter he wasn’t quite as successful in, though, because all Ian could focus on was Wanda as she stood with a younger waitress with dark skin and fuchsia-coloured hair. Ian bit his lip as he watched them going back and forth between whispering, turning to look at Ian and Mickey’s table, and then turning to mutter things between themselves again. He had heard his name when Wanda had first ushered the other girl from pouring coffee.</p><p>“Ian,” Mickey said softly as he squeezed the hand that had gradually been edging back towards its owner. Receiving a soft hum in response but no movement from where the green eyes were trained on the gossiping women, Mickey sighed sadly before dropping Ian’s hand to slide out of the booth before Ian could stop him.</p><p>Running a hand over his face and through his hair, Ian was torn between not wanting to see what his boyfriend was about to do and wanting to get popcorn and front-row seats to the show to follow. He settled on fidgeting with his lip as he watched the shorter boy swagger up to the counter by the register, crossing his arms atop it as he cleared his throat.</p><p>“’Ey, ‘scuse me,” Mickey began, his voice cold and unwelcoming despite his use of manners. Both waitresses looked to Mickey like does caught in headlights. Neither of them made a move to speak to the customer. “Yeah, you two!” The patience was gone as he continued, “Come on, had fuckin’ tons to say when nobody wanted ya’ to, now ya’ can’t even fuckin’ say ‘yes, sir, how can I help you’ to a customer.”</p><p>The climbing volume of Mickey’s voice had summoned Sean from out back with a firm frown on his face, ready to lay into whoever was harassing his staff. “Yes, sir, how can I help you?” Sean had stepped in front of his waitresses to stare firmly at the disruptive Milkovich boy, sarcasm dripping from his words as he had addressed Mickey. “And please don’t cuss or show any aggression towards any of my staff going forward or I’ll get the cops down here.”</p><p>“Well, maybe if your waitresses weren’t so ignorant and gossipy, I wouldn’t’ve needed to.” The dark-haired boy had stood up now, attempting to square up to Sean’s six-foot-two frame. Other diners had stooped eating to pay attention to the commotion ensuing. “Like, how’s about ya’ give ‘em some sensitivity trainin’? Teach ‘em not to talk shit about people’s insecurities, ya’ know. Like the thing people do when they’re a judgemental piece of shit?”</p><p>Feeling like Mickey was unwilling to back down, Ian got to his feet and uncomfortably traipsed towards his boyfriend, putting hands on either shoulder as he attempted to diffuse the situation. “Mickey, please, just leave it…” His voice was small as his hands shook.</p><p>“Ian, hi.” Sean seemed slightly taken aback to see the younger boy. “Is this your friend?”</p><p>He nodded apologetically. “We’ll just leave.”</p><p>“No, Ian, we won’t. Those bitches don’t get to talk shit about shit they don’t know about and then make us leave.” Mickey was firm and set, not budging on a fact he wasn’t wrong on.</p><p>With a brow raised slightly, Sean looked between Ian and Mickey (noticing his scarred arms; he already knew about Ian’s from when Fiona had walked in on him in the shower and seen them for the first time and he had passed out and woken in bed surrounded by Lip, Fiona, and Sean). “Let’s go out back and talk about this privately,” he suggested, “I’ll put your breakfast order on hold for a few minutes so it doesn’t dry out under the heat lamp.”</p><p>“Please,” Ian whispered, more to Mickey than Sean, when he noticed that his boyfriend was ready to refuse and continue the spectacle. Briefly looking back at Ian questioningly, though, he saw the anxiety that was plastered across the freckled face. He nodded solemnly, relaxing his shoulders beneath Ian’s quivering hands.</p><p>“Sorry about that, folks. The waitresses will be bringing round a free order of nachos for every table,” Sean smiled apologetically as he raised a hand in the air before walking behind the counter, gesturing for the two boys to follow him.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The room that Sean led them to was small and cramped, with a desk, chair, and a lot of clutter stacked around them. It was dark and stuffy. Mickey wondered how Sean could get any work done in there.</p><p>“Sorry about the mess, guys,” Sean apologised as he perched himself against the edge of the desk. “So, what happened?” The question was directed at Ian, but the boy stayed quiet, looking down at his hands which he wrung against his thigh nervously.</p><p>Mickey looked to his boyfriend as though asking for permission to speak, reaching down to squeeze Ian’s hand gently, before beginning when he had received a small nod.</p><p>“Wando came to take our order, noticed mine and Ian’s scars, stared like a bitch, and then went back there to not-so-subtly gossip with the flamingo behind the counter about it.” Mickey’s hand rested against Ian’s forearm, stroking it softly with the side of his pinkie finger. “Ya’ don’t think we already have anxiety over the way we look? It’s fuckin’ hard enough to accept it ourselves, so havin’ people laugh and talk about it just makes us feel even more shitty.” Stopping to take a deep breath, Mickey pinched at the bridge of his nose whilst trying to calm his hammering heart that threatened to beat out of his chest. His arms felt like they were burning, like flames crept from his wrists to his elbows with a rage. “They wouldn’t’ve done it with a dude in a wheelchair.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Sean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right, they wouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” He paused for a beat, drumming his fingers against the edge of the desk. “Look, I’m gonna’ pull ‘em both up about it, explain it like you did, ‘cause you’re right. And you’ll both get an apology from them. Your order today is on me. And I’ll get some pie boxed up for you to take home as well.”</p><p>“You don’t have t-” Ian shook his head slowly.</p><p>“No, I want to. How they were was unprofessional and unacceptable – I won’t stand for it.” The older man was insistent, his voice firm as his nose was crinkled slightly with anger.</p><p>Mickey accepted the hand that Sean extended to him, mumbling a small “Thanks, man,” as he shook it.</p><p>The handshake that Ian was offered turned in to a supportive bro-hug, with Sean saying softly “Whether me and your sister are together or not, I’ve got your back, Ian. You need anything, just ask.” Ian nodded slowly once they had separated. “Now, you two go and pick out a booth and I’ll get your breakfast cooking right away.” The smile Sean offered them was genuine and supportive as he opened the door for them to exit his office.</p><p>Watching as Ian stood reluctantly for a moment, clearly on the fence about heading back outside, Mickey extended a hand towards his boyfriend, unable to hold back the smile that crept across his lips when Ian grasped it. “I got you,” he promised, squeezing it reassuringly, not letting go until Ian had parked them at a booth tucked against the window, his posture seeming small and exhausted by the ordeal.</p><p>As they ate, the conversation between the pair minimal, Mickey and Ian were met by Wanda and the flamingo standing at the foot of their table, one woman armed with two chocolate milkshakes and the other with a couple of boxes (of what Mickey presumed to be the pie Sean had mentioned)</p><p>“We’re real sorry,” Wanda began as she placed a milkshake in front of each boy, “that wasn’t cool.”</p><p>The flamingoesque waitress nodded uncomfortably as she looked down, “Yeah. Just… yeah.” She seemed defeated and unsure of what to say without putting her foot in it again; “Don’t take any notice of us, just keep doing you.” After placing the boxes down in finality, the women scurried away before Mickey could eat into them any more about their shitty attitudes and behaviour.</p><p>“So, pie is probably gonna’ be our hangover breakfast tomorrow,” Mickey joked, laughing shortly in the way that made his nose scrunch. The comment had done its intended job, pulling a gentle chuckle and a smile from the boy seated opposite him that was melodious to his ears. With every fibre in his being, Mickey would strive to keep that smile on his boyfriend’s lips and his voice bright and airy.</p><p>If Ian was happy and safe, Mickey could be too.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The world was pushing him to his limits, as if it were aware of how important this evening was.</p><p>“Ugh,” Ian growled as he tried to get those few stubborn hairs to stay in place with shaking hands. “Why? Why the <em>one</em> time I need my hair to look good does it refuse to? Am I cursed or something?” His lips pulled in to a tight line as he clenched his fists before gripping at the edge of the sink in frustration, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip.</p><p>“Your hair looks great,” Mickey whispered into Ian’s neck as he wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed himself up against his boyfriend. “You look great,” he reiterated, “you always do.”</p><p>As Mickey’s thumb slipped beneath the material of his navy shirt, just smoothing softly over his hip, Ian let his head hang back on to the shorter boy’s shoulder as he took a deep breath. “I love you,” he began, turning his head just enough so he could catch the deep, enticing, blue eyes that held his heart. “But… no. I’m gonna’ have to wash my hair again, and we’re already running late, so don’t start… maybe later if you’re good.”</p><p>Mickey’s grin as Ian winked at him was cheeky as he replied, “Ya’ drive a hard bargain, Gallagher.” And then he was untangling himself from the redhead and turning him away from the sink to face him. “Now, let the master of the quiff get to work,” his grin stretched across his face even more as he reached behind to pull his wax from the bathroom cabinet.</p><p>The mood from earlier that day was long forgotten, both boys on a high as they strolled towards The Alibi Room, their shoulders knocking occasionally as they laughed over Mickey’s brief – terrible -descriptions of his co-workers whom they were headed to meet. As they neared the bar, Ian felt his stomach begin to twist and turn in a way that made him want to stop and turn back. And he must have shown this subconscious fear because Mickey had stopped a step ahead of him, as if feeling the loss of warmth that Ian had provided his right side with.</p><p>“Ian…” Mickey said softly as he turned and stepped back to his boyfriend, “I got you, man.”</p><p>The vacant look of fear on Ian’s face dissipated and, as he had previously, he accepted the outstretched hand for a moment, but quickly dropped it when the sound of drunken men laughing and shouting in the distance reached his ears.</p><p>The look that briefly flashed across his boyfriend’s face felt like a punch to the gut, and Ian momentarily bit his lip before mumbling “I- sorry…”</p><p>And then the shorter boy appeared to be able to instantly wipe his expression, though his tone held a slight firmness: “South Side; didn’t expect us to walk into The Alibi holdin’ hands like a couple queens.”</p><p>“Mickey, it’s not-”</p><p>Waving a hand dismissively, Mickey interjected, “It’s okay, it’s all new, I get it.” And still, that tone that felt like a biting, grating pain in Ian’s chest was there as the older boy spoke. “Come on, let’s get in there.” Mickey turned to walk towards the bar.</p><p>“No.” Remaining planted to the spot, Ian reached out and took his boyfriend’s hand, turning him back towards himself before he spoke. “I know you, and I know your head is reading into that more than it should.” He paused, trailing his hand up Mickey’s arm, a shiver running up his spine when his fingers crossed the rolled-up sleeve and went from smooth skin and soft arm hairs to the slight scratch of the black shirt.</p><p>Ian took a deep breath before he tried to alleviate the anxiety that was bouncing about Mickey’s brain over the simple action. “It’s hard for me, yeah, but I’m not embarrassed to be with you or of the fact that I’m bi. I mean, damn, look at you, Mickey – I should be walking around with a shirt that says ‘yep, I get to bang this guy’!” His voice had risen, his hands now waving about to do some of the talking for him. “I’m scared of the world at times, and I shouldn’t be, you know. I got bashed for kissing a guy and I got freaking attacked for not reciprocating. It’s other people’s reactions that I’m scared of.”</p><p>Mickey caught Ian’s wild hands in his own, holding them low as he spoke with authority, “Nobody’s gonna’ hurt ya’ again, Ian. I won’t let ‘em, that I can fuckin’ promise ya’.” His eyes were dark and his brow set as he brought Ian’s hands up to his lips, leaning his nose against the tops as he took a few measured breaths, trying to remove the aggression that always came when he felt protective of his boyfriend.</p><p>There was a brief hesitation before Ian nodded and smiled softly, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist and allowing himself to relax into his warmth as he pressed his face against his neck and kissed it softly. The small, almost purr-like sound that Mickey let out had Ian’s cock twitching in his boxers. He took a slow breath before pulling away and saying softly “I love you.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, you too. Let’s just get in that bar and get a beer – I’m parched.” And that was enough for Ian. His boyfriend’s voice had been genuine, his smile and laughter warm, and his eyes bright and brilliant.</p><p>As they walked into the bar, Ian trailed slightly behind Mickey, unsure of whom they were looking for. Ian should have been realistic and remembered that there was never a crowd larger than three in The Alibi, so the four tables pushed together that played host to a party of over a dozen people should have been a dead giveaway. Mickey had described seven colleagues, so he assumed that the additional members were spouses or close friends.</p><p>“Mickey’s here!” A blond guy about Mickey’s age yelled as he jumped up from his stool to pull Mickey into a bro-hug. “And this must be Ian. Hey, man, nice to meet you – I’m Rick!” Ian received the same manhandling from the man who was taller than he was.</p><p>“Hey,” Ian mumbled out awkwardly, patting Rich on the back feebly.</p><p>Rich turned to, Ian assumed, introduce him to everyone, but another man at the crowded tables interrupted, calling out loudly, “Damn, Mickey, you didn’t tell us he was tall; I brought two booster seats!” The older man with a baseball cap atop his head waved the two children’s booster seats in the air for the punchline. The laughter that carried through the bar was louder than The Alibi room had heard on any occasion that Frank had done something stupid or embarrassing in front of the regular patrons.</p><p>“Fuck you very much, John,” Mickey grinned as he presented his colleague with a pair of middle fingers and gesturing Ian closer into the bar, paying for a couple of beers before Ian could get his wallet out. He then began pointing out his colleagues and naming them as Kev poured their drinks.</p><p>As Mickey spoke, Ian simply stared at him in a dream-like trance, focusing on the smile that pulled at his lips or the brightness behind the blue eyes. Occasionally, he managed to tear his gaze away to follow the direction of his pointing finger, but mostly he just wanted to keep staring at his boyfriend and see how comfortable and at ease he felt around his colleagues. After the day’s earlier event, comfort and confidence around people were what they both wanted to feel tonight. And in Ian’s case, the alcohol would definitely aid in allowing him to reach the level that his boyfriend was already at with the new faces.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, mention of scars</p><p>“They wouldn’t’ve done it with a dude in a wheelchair.” - This was a crazy important and personal one because I'm one of those folks with shitty scars and omg people need to be more aware of what their stares and opinions do! I never wanted tattoos in my life but I decided I would give people something pretty to stare at (Tanya in the end of OTOTW with the floral piece is me!) because at least they would see the tattoo rather than the shit. </p><p>BE FUCKING NICE, PEOPLE! IT'S STRANGELY EASY!</p><p>*mic drop*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“So, how ‘bout we move this party to somewhere a little more lively?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, yes! Genius, Mickey!” Lindsay was whooping lightly before picking up her glass to knock back the rest of her cocktail, pointing at him after as she said, “I knew you’d be all sorts of good things for Hank’s! Now, come on, folks, get ‘em down and let’s go and shake the goods!” She then stood up to shake her ass before dropping down into a slut-drop with a loud whoop as some at the table cheered and laughed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, guess who finally finished writing the advanced chapters of this fic? Oh yeah, it's this guy! That's crazy exciting for me. I've also made a start on the first chapter of the follow-on fic which will sort of tie it all together a little, but it's a SLIGHTLY different format (but that's a bridge for that). Anyways, I really loved writing the interactions with Mickey's coworkers here, so hopefully y'all enjoy it too.</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure you don’t need the booster seat, Mickey?” Rick nudged Mickey in the ribs as he spoke, “Looks like you’re having to strain a little to see into your man’s eyes.”</p><p>This fucking kid. Mickey questioned why he was his best friend at Hank’s when the dude was an absolute asshole to him. “Nah, I wouldn’t want to take it away from you and your ego,” Mickey spat back playfully before smiling his thanks at Paul as a tray of vodka shots was placed on the table by their boss.</p><p>Lindsay reached across to grab a shot, only almost spilling it on the table in front of Mickey as the glass slipped between her nail extensions. “Whoopsie,” she giggled before attempting to distribute the rest of the shots between their colleagues and spouses, not faltering after her first practice run. Raising her shot, she prompted a toast, “To Hank’s, where all of you boys are my bitches!” Her blonde hair bounced about lightly as she laughed when her toast to Hank’s was chinked in the centre of the group with a mixture of grins and laughter.</p><p>“Ah! Apart from me, Linds, we’re partners in stopping these boys from fucking up the place,” Paul corrected.</p><p>“Too right, Pauly!” The bubbly administrator leaned across Mickey to extend a hand for a high-five from the boss, squealing playfully when it was returned.</p><p>Mickey felt Ian’s lips close to his ear and heard him whisper with a slight tone of concern, “Does she realise you’re gay?”</p><p>A sharp laugh was Mickey’s initial response. “Does she know I’m gay? She sure fuckin’ does,” he ran a hand through his hair where his laughter had made a strand fall loose. “She tried ‘er fuckin’ hardest to flirt like fuck with me when I went in, then Paul shut her down by tellin’ every fucker here that I’m gay when I’ve not even been in the buildin’ more than twenty minutes – thanks, boss man, definitely think that one earns me another shot!” His tongue poked between his teeth as he laughed cheekily, sending the older man a wink.</p><p>“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Paul smiled warmly before taking a long drink of his beer, gesturing Mickey to the bar with a jerk of his head as he stood. “Two shots of Jameson, thanks.” And then as Kev prepared their shots, Paul looked to Mickey with a playful smile, “He’s nice, but maybe a little too good-looking for your mug.”</p><p>The pair downed their shots before Mickey groaned shortly and said, “Screw you, man. You look in the mirror before you get into bed with Trish?”</p><p>Paul clapped him on the shoulder. “Just gotta’ look at my dick, kid. Now, come on, looks like Lindsay is gonna’ eat Ian alive.” Mickey followed where Paul’s calloused finger pointed to see Lindsay sitting in his seat beside the redhead and gushing about how cute they both were and leaning close to whisper softly to him, a hand on his knee.</p><p>
  <em>What the fuck is she doing? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Why isn’t he stopping her? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is he flirting with her?</em>
</p><p>The questions in Mickey’s head were only slightly quieter than his heartbeat as it pulsated deafeningly in his ears. He felt as though he walked calmly to the table, but, in reality, his shoulders were stiff and footfalls heavy as he made his way back to the group and put his head between the only two people who were in focus anymore.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>“Ian, babe, come outside for a smoke,” Mickey drawled, his hands warm as they gripped at his shoulders.</p><p><em>Babe?</em> That was weird. Mickey had never used terms of endearment like that. Turning to look at his boyfriend, he saw the warm, loving expression that masked anxiety, anger, and fear in one. Mickey had not been a bad drunk in Ian’s experience thus far, so he cautiously nodded, plastering a smile on as he apologised to Lindsay and followed Mickey outside the bar and down into the side alley.</p><p>“Mickey, what’s up? Your eyes are-” Ian was cut off by Mickey pressing his body against the wall as their lips locked into a fierce kiss. Willingly reciprocating, Ian revelled in the slight shelter that the alley allowed them, his lips fighting against his boyfriend’s warm, wet ones as the shorter boy’s hands grasped up under Ian’s shirt before going down to his pants. “No.” This wasn’t something Ian was ready for and Mickey knew that.</p><p>“What?” The look of rejection that spread across Mickey’s face made Ian’s stomach clench.</p><p>He reached a hand up to Mickey’s freshly-shaven cheek; “Talk to me. I can see it in your eyes.” He patted Mickey’s temple lightly as he asked, “What’s going on up here?” The conflict sat heavy in his boyfriend’s eyes as they broke contact, flitting to the side, hooded with embarrassment.</p><p>“Lindsay. You bein’ bi. My stupid, fucked-up head.” The shorter boy mumbled out uncomfortably, allowing his eyes to briefly search the green ones for a response, but instantly regretting the decision and looking back down the alley.</p><p>There was no way he could deny that the thought train that was thundering through his boyfriend’s mind at present didn’t feel like a stab in the back. Being bisexual was only a part of it, Ian was fully aware; the older boy was subconsciously biting back on mentioning the fact that he had slept with Tyler whilst manic the same day they had fucked for the first time. It was as though Mickey knew that Ian didn’t need to be reminded of that, that his own anxieties would substitute the self-loathing thought.</p><p>He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath before speaking. “That hurts me a little, that you would think that I would even entertain the idea of anyone else… but… you have a fair reason to. And I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that I can’t go back and erase that massive mistake.” Ian bit his lip briefly, another deep breath fighting away the dampness that brimmed his eyes. “But I told you I was all in, and I meant that.”</p><p>There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them before blue finally met green again and Mickey nodded sullenly. “I know. And… I’m sorry. It’s just… Paul made a joke about you bein’ too pretty for me, and then I looked and saw Lindsay basically layin’ on you.” Mickey’s voice dropped to just above a whisper as he uttered, “She’s pretty enough for you.”</p><p>“She’s not what I want.”</p><p>Those green, glassy eyes were sincere and truthful, pleading with Mickey to believe his words. And he knew he had said the right thing when Mickey simply laced his arms about his boyfriend’s waist and hugged into his chest, nodding slowly in acceptance.</p><p>“Besides, her ass is a tabletop,” Ian mumbled into a lightly sniffling Mickey’s hair, pulling a slight snort from him.</p><p>Mickey looked up to Ian and said in a very serious manner “It’s a waste for such a pretty girl. Not everyone can be blessed with an ass this good.”</p><p>“Too right, <em>babe</em>,” Ian teased, squeezing Mickey’s jeans-clad cheeks. “Territorial much?”</p><p>Mickey gave Ian a forceful peck on the lips and shrugged out a terse “My man,” before pulling out his cigarettes and popping one between Ian’s lips, lighting it for him.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>When they returned to their company for the evening, beers in hand, they were met with suggestive eyebrows, and Rick even had the audacity to stand up on his stool and howl loudly as he sent the pair a wink, thrusting his hips in the air. Mickey’s middle finger was the only response the blond man received as they popped themselves back at the table.</p><p>“So, you never did tell me – we were <em>rudely</em> interrupted by this horn monster – how did you guys meet?” Lindsay asked before taking a sip from the straw that decorated her pornstar martini.</p><p>Mickey’s hand had been on his thigh under the table, and he was sure Mickey had felt him tense because he supplied an answer coolly: “His brother’s datin’ my sister, met at one of ‘is family’s wild parties.”</p><p>Rick sat forward eagerly, “Does he have any sisters? I mean, the dude’s pretty hot, so imagine a female version!”</p><p>There was a mixture of laughs and scoffs as Lindsay leant across to slap at Rick’s arm before saying “That’s totally cute. Just make sure you become husbands before in-laws.” What she had said brought a pink tinge up both of their necks as they seemed to think the same thing, taking long gulps of their drinks almost in unison.</p><p>“Nasty bitch,” Mickey sent his female co-worker a dirty look before declaring he was getting another drink. “What do ya’ want?” His hand was on Ian’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze before scruffing at the short hairs at the nape of his neck and walking away with Ian’s drink order.</p><p>Once again stood at the bar, Mickey admired how Ian looked so beautiful and so much more at ease with his colleagues than he had when they first arrived. It made Mickey want to wrap him up in his arms and squeeze him until he could hold him no longer. Ian being incorporated into his life, and how normal it seemed in comparison to their lives weeks ago was so insanely gratifying to see.</p><p>“Jesus, I didn’t even look at my wife like that when we were together,” Mickey heard come from his peripheral and looked to his right to see a couple of the barflies staring at him, one of which was none other than Frank Gallagher.</p><p>Before Mickey could respond, Kev was placing their drinks in front of him and saying, “Don’t listen to ‘em, Mickey.”</p><p>“Thanks, man.” He smiled his thanks and handed Kev a ten-dollar bill, walking away and ignoring the barman that called after him about his change. He placed their drinks on the table before pressing himself close to Ian’s ear to whisper, “Your dad’s here. Want me to try and see if we can take this thing anywhere away from the asshole?” When Ian nodded, he reached beneath the table to squeeze his thigh reassuringly before addressing the table: “So, how ‘bout we move this party to somewhere a little more lively?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, yes! Genius, Mickey!” Lindsay was whooping lightly before picking up her glass to knock back the rest of her cocktail, pointing at him after as she said, “I knew you’d be all sorts of good things for Hank’s! Now, come on, folks, get ‘em down and let’s go and shake the goods!” She then stood up to shake her ass before dropping down into a slut-drop with a loud whoop as some at the table cheered and laughed.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Promptly after finishing their drinks and a few bathroom trips, the party from Hank’s Auto Shop were filing out towards the door. Ian felt his feet stumble just a little at the sake of the alcohol and managed to fall against one of the regulars at the bar. And, of course, luck would have it that it was Frank turning to try and tear him a new one and rant about respecting their elders. But the haze of alcohol that usually glazed Frank Gallagher’s eyes was thin enough that his eyes managed to take in his son’s red hair and Monica’s big, hopeful doe eyes.</p><p>“My son!” Frank was standing to pull Ian into a one-sided hug, then holding him at arm’s length to take in his affect; “Great to see you, my boy! How was your trip to the loony bin?” The bloodshot eyes continued to look up and down at him. “Your mother always came out looking like a zombie, but you’re positively glowing!”</p><p>His legs felt weak, unable to fully support his weight as he stared vacantly through Frank, trying hard not to let the drunkard’s declaration to the world bring him to his knees. He was fully aware that the party he had been with were stood uncomfortably, not wholly out of the bar yet, having heard everything that his deadbeat father had all but bellowed. Looking at the man who was oblivious to what he had done, Ian saw hot, red anger. In an instant, a surge of madness coursed through the Gallagher boy’s and he was shoving his father’s hands from his body and sending a sharp, hard punch into his face, feeling Frank’s nose break against his fist for the umpteenth time, sending him to the floor.</p><p>Ian was unable to hear the screaming from Lindsay or the shocked gasps from John and another mechanic that Ian thought may have been called Rob or Rod. All he heard was the yelling from his father as he was ready to lay into him even more. But Mickey’s arms around his shoulders stopped him, holding back the rage-filled boy as Kev was rounding the bar to catch Frank who stumbled to his feet in an attempt to retaliate.</p><p>Feeling Mickey trying to wrangle him out of the bar, Ian felt himself shaking as he finally slumped into Mickey’s hold when the sticky night air of Chicago hit his face. He took deep breaths into his boyfriend’s chest, a few silent tears rolling down his cheeks in defeat. Distantly, he thought he heard Mickey calling out to the partygoers to head on and text him, but Ian didn’t know whether he fully trusted his brain after it had just let him punch Frank in a crowded bar in front of Mickey’s colleagues.</p><p>“I’m sorry…” Ian sighed, finally wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist to hold him tightly.</p><p>Hands on his shoulders, Mickey pulled back from Ian to look at him firmly: “No. Shut the fuck up, man. Don’t… just no. You <em>do not</em> fuckin’ apologise for him! He is an asshole, he was out of order, and he deserved more than what I let you give ‘im.” Mickey leaned up to press a kiss to Ian’s lips softly, pulling back to say, “You never gotta’ apologise for that shit. Okay?”</p><p>Ian smiled down to his boyfriend with watery eyes. For someone whose vocabulary was a good seventy percent curse words and insults, Mickey Milkovich had a way with words sometimes. “I fucking love you, Mickey Milkovich!” It wasn’t possible to do so, but Ian tried to put all of that love into a passionate, hot kiss with his boyfriend. But their love felt so all-consuming and entire in itself that Ian didn’t have a chance. Sure, he was a good kisser, and equally as impressive in the sack, but nothing could really compare.</p><p>Mickey returned the sentiment before pulling Ian’s head down to plop a kiss on his forehead. “So, what d’ya’ wanna’ do? As your partner who knows how many pills you’re on and what you’ll be like in the mornin’, I’ll suggest goin’ home and puttin’ some pizza bagels on with my boy Seagal.” He saw Ian’s expression falter slightly; “But as a kid with a shitty dad, I’m also sayin’ that I told the guys to text me where they were goin’ so that if you wanted to deal with it the Gallagher way then I’m also on board.”</p><p>“So, we’ll be toasting to shitty dads then,” Ian decided with a grin.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>“To shitty dads!” The party of Hank’s Auto Shop workers and their guests toasted at the bar of the crowded club, Mickey with an orange juice in hand but an equally large smile regardless.</p><p>He grinned as Ian drained his drink before grabbing at his hands and dragging him towards the dance floor with an excited smile. Whilst Mickey wasn’t a dancer, he would do anything to keep his boyfriend happy, and that meant attempting to dance with his two left feet. Of course, Ian spent a lot of the time reminding Mickey of this, laughing as he attempted to take Mickey’s hips and guide them into a fluid movement that had both boys panting with want.</p><p>Their dancing had become a game of friction and would not win them any dance battles, but it did gain them a lot of digs from the younger Hank’s employees. Lindsay, Rick, Harley (Paul’s nephew, and Perry’s son, who was also a mechanic), and his girlfriend, Ruby, crowded around them to break the pair apart and initiate them into a group dance. Hank’s administrator had one arm around Mickey’s neck and the other around Ian’s, guiding them into a sloppy swaying action that had Ian giggling along with the blonde girl. Mickey felt at ease and content, catching the Gallagher boy’s eyes and seeing that his earlier concerns had disappeared and were replaced with a glazed, cheeriness that made his heart melt with merriment.</p><p>The group of younger workers bar Mickey had another three rounds of drinks in them before Lindsay and Ian’s swaying was lost and the pair tumbled to the floor in a giggling heap, almost pulling Mickey and Ruby down with them. Luckily, Mickey’s abstention from further alcohol lent him slightly better reactions and balance, allowing him to catch himself before extending a hand to pull his chortling boyfriend up. Sure that Ian was steady, he then bent to heave Lindsay to her feet, noticing her legs buckling in her stiletto heels.</p><p>“Come on, I think you two are done,” Mickey declared as he all but dragged Lindsay out of the throng of partygoers, briefly telling the other three that he was getting them home, and constantly casting an eye to his right to see that Ian was still upright and not fighting him on the issue.</p><p>Out of the club and in the fresh air, the dark-haired boy attempted to right Lindsay’s loose frame but was met with jelly-like legs and drunken giggles. “You guys are gonna’ kill me.” He popped two cigarettes in his mouth to light them with one hand, then transferring one to Ian’s lips, earning himself a lopsided grin that almost saw Ian dropping his smoke. As he took a long drag, he patted Lindsay’s arm lightly and queried her address.</p><p>“Round… corner…” Her words were soft and slurred as she looked vacantly over Mickey’s shoulder.</p><p>“Right, Ian, we’re gonna’ have to walk Lindsay Lightweight back and then we’ll grab a cab back if we need to – guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Mickey received a hum of agreement from the ginger boy and made about trying to get Lindsay balanced on her heels to no avail. A soft sigh. “Hey, drunk girl, think you could handle a piggyback home?”</p><p>Lindsay’s blue eyes lit up as her lips spread into a wide grin. “Yes! Mickey-back home, Mickey-back home!”</p><p>“Great.” Crouching down in front of her, a semi-sober Mickey waited until Lindsay’s arms clasped around his neck and held tight before standing up and holding the girl’s legs about his waist. “Let’s get goin’ then. Point me in the right direction, captain.”</p><p>Lindsay was almost holding him in a chokehold as she bounced her knees against his hips and yelled, “Giddy up, horsey!” It was enough to have Mickey and Ian ambling along the dark streets under her directions.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: drinking, anxiety, overthinking, jealously, minor violence</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey with a chuckle, plopping a wet kiss on his forehead as he rumbled with laughter, “Of course I did, stupid! I was just going for the laughs there; I’m not funny, noted.”</p><p>“It’s no-” Mickey’s words were cut off by a slurring voice.</p><p>Both boys turned to see a tall, broad guy with a buzzcut and tattoos littering his arms and shoulders, creeping down into his tank top. “Look at the little fucking fairies out in the streets like fucking whores!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An update for you, my lovelies. Absolutely loving the feedback on previous chapters, so thank you so much!</p><p>Just so you know, the final follow-on for this series is in progress and is looking like it's gonna' be a four-parter with chapters being 7-10k words and will be in a slightly different format a little I guess? Idk, but either way I finished the first chapter the other night and made a star on the next, so I'm hoping to have the entire series finished within the next fortnight or so *excited squee noise*</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After tucking Lindsay up in bed with a glass of water on her bedside table and her stilt-like heels removed, Ian felt a lot steadier than he had in the club half an hour ago. When they stepped outside, posting Lindsay’s keys through her letterbox, Mickey ran a hand through his hair before looking to his boyfriend and saying “Okay, now don’t expect a piggyback home, man, ‘cause I’m saving my energy to ride <em>you</em>!”</p><p>Ian laughed at Mickey’s smirking face that stared at him through the darkness, a cigarette perched between his lips; “And strange enough, I’m <em>more</em> than okay with that.” Ian snatched the half-burnt cigarette from Mickey’s lips before taking off down the street at as full a sprint as his legs could manage, the sound of Mickey’s boots slapping against the pavement following shortly after.</p><p>“Stealin’ a sober man’s smoke is a death wish, Gallagher!”</p><p>Still laughing, Ian called behind him through panting breaths, “So’s fucking the wrong guy in the ass!” He took a long drag on the remainder of the cigarette before discarding of it, leaving a trail of smoke floating behind him.</p><p>“’Ey, you said you wanted that shit, Gallagher!” Mickey’s footsteps had slowed, and Ian took that as his signal to stop and wait for his itty-bitty boyfriend to catch up. When the older boy was standing before Ian, his face was serious, “I… you did… didn’t you? I didn’t…”</p><p>Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey with a chuckle, plopping a wet kiss on his forehead as he rumbled with laughter, “Of course I did, stupid! I was just going for the laughs there; I’m not funny, noted.”</p><p>“It’s no-” Mickey’s words were cut off by a slurring voice.</p><p>Both boys turned to see a tall, broad guy with a buzzcut and tattoos littering his arms and shoulders, creeping down into his tank top. “Look at the little fucking fairies out in the streets like fucking whores!” His words were spurred on by booze, prejudice, and an audience of two equally drunk friends with him.</p><p>One of the friends was stocky with dark skin and a large stomach laughed at his tattooed friend’s words, adding on “Little fucking bitches are just asking for a beat-down.”</p><p>By this point, Ian and Mickey’s South Side instinct had kicked in, the pair releasing each other and their fists clenching as the trio neared them. A part of Ian was filled with anxiety, but he was a Gallagher and they would never take a beating without putting up a fight. Mickey’s words echoed through his ears as the loud men’s words sliced through the quiet night air.</p><p>
  <em>Nobody’s gonna’ hurt you again, Ian. I won’t let ‘em, that I can fuckin’ promise ya’.</em>
</p><p>Appearing to be the leader, the tattooed man walked towards Ian, clearly perceiving his height to be the biggest threat, and went to send a right hook into his cheek. Of course, between having his pitbull of a boyfriend beside him and hand-to-hand combat training from R.O.T.C., the man was on the floor before his arm could even reach its full extension, Mickey sending a punch to the guy’s own face. Ian had clocked Mickey’s move and moved to swipe a leg behind his knee, sending the guy’s buzzcut cracking against the floor with a groan.</p><p>Not soon enough, his friends had come rallying towards them, yelling all sorts of slurs and threats at the couple as they disregarded the leader of the hate trio to try and leave Ian and Mickey on their asses. The large black guy went towards Ian as the third man, of a similar build to the tattooed one, beelined for Mickey. Ian realised that the black guy wasn’t very skilled in fighting and simply tried to use his weight to his advantage, throwing his body with his attempted punches. The Gallagher boy easily blocked these, bar a hit to his stomach, and took advantage of his sloppy footwork and compromised balance. With minimal effort, Ian sent a short, sharp blow to his throat when he stumbled close enough. The shock of the hit and the shaky legs had the man falling to the floor as he clutched at his throat. Turning with every intention of helping Mickey, Ian was met by Mickey’s bloody, grinning smirk. “That was really fuckin’ hot. Now, come on before some local calls the cops.”</p><p>Ian nodded and began to run away with his boyfriend, yelling behind him, “The fucking fairies <em>gave</em> the beat-down, assholes!” His words had elicited a laugh and an agreeing shout from the older boy.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The adrenaline after the beating had made for amazing sex through late until the sun dared to creep up above the horizon and bare its teeth. Only when the bed shook (with what Mickey would realise was his boyfriend’s body jerking from heaving), did the Milkovich boy stir and see that Ian made no effort to move as he vomited.</p><p>“Hey, come on, man, let’s get you to the bathroom.” Mickey rubbed at the sleep and exhaustion that his four hours of sleep had afforded his eyes. The boy beside him, still unmoving, grunted and belched before another wave of nausea had him vomiting on to the mattress quietly. A myriad of thoughts and concerns passed through Mickey’s mind at the strange behaviour, but instinct had him running to the kitchen to retrieve a bucket from under the sink for Ian to empty his stomach in to.</p><p>Back in the room, he saw Ian was still and silent, and a wave of fear washed over Mickey: he’s choked on his vomit and dead. The bucket was long discarded, and the older boy managed to release a breath when he crouched beside his boyfriend to see him blink vacantly, looking through Mickey as though he wasn’t even there.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p><p>Staring past him was Ian in a depressive episode, no desire to move, speak, or even breathe if it weren’t for the fact that his brain controlled the autonomy of breathing. His eyes seemed dull and lost, as though searching for a purpose past laying in his own vomit. Seeing this Ian was always the hardest thing for Mickey because he knew that there was nothing he could really do past ride it out with him. He stroked a hand over Ian’s clean cheek briefly before standing to get provisions to clean the vomit and his boyfriend as best as he possibly could.</p><p>With a lot of back-and-forthing of his dead-weight boyfriend, tugging at sheets, and a brief period of scrubbing, Mickey managed to remove the soiled bedsheets, clean the dampness that had stained the mattress, and place a towel over the spot before rolling Ian back to his original spot in anticipation of more puke. A quick freshen up for Mickey felt like the most selfish thing he could do, like he couldn’t scrub the feeling of vomit and alcohol from his skin quick enough. He returned to see Ian had not thrown up again and lay in a brief stupor, his eyelashes fluttering frequently.</p><p>Pills.</p><p>It wouldn’t have much of an effect at present, and Mickey would call Ian’s doctor tomorrow, but, for now, he needed to maintain his medication schedule and at least get a little food and drink into him. As he stood in the kitchen making coffee for the both of them and a piece of toast for his boyfriend, he was joined by his sister in her Waffle House uniform.</p><p>“Ian still sleeping?” She queried, taking one of the cups of coffee that her brother had poured with a cheeky smirk and a playful punch to his arm.</p><p>Mickey ran a hand through his hair, sighing before mumbling “Bad day. Umm, we got gay-bashed last night an-”</p><p>“I was gonna’ ask if you needed me to beat him up for busting up your lip.”</p><p>“No. We had it covered, even with Ian drunk off his ass, but… he’s never experienced that before – I think it triggered him.”</p><p>Mandy’s nude lips pulled downwards; “Anything I can do to help?”</p><p>Hell, Mickey wondered that every time he saw Ian not his usual, happy, bubbly self. The absence of the incessant chatter that passed through his ears when he was with his boyfriend was like a painful white noise; a reminder that that emptiness was symbolic for what Mickey could truly do to help the younger boy. Nothing. They were both damaged goods and they could only breeze through life managing their disorders, never being able to cure them.</p><p>Shrugging dismissively, Mickey shook his head and explained, “Nah, just gotta’ let it pass ‘til I can call ‘is therapist tomorrow. I mean, ya’ can tell Lip, I guess, but… they can’t do much more than me.”</p><p>The female Milkovich nodded and clapped her brother on the shoulder in reassurance before chugging the last of her stolen coffee and making her way out of the house to work, offering a sympathetic smile over her shoulder before she left.</p><p>Mickey traipsed into the bedroom with some fresh toast and a glass of water for the lightly dozing boy in his room, placing them on the chest of drawers before he rummaged through Ian’s backpack to retrieve his medication. The rattling of the pills in the orange bottles seemed to wake Ian, a small groan being aired before he pulled the comforter up over his head. <em>This is going to be easy</em>, Mickey thought sarcastically before he knelt on the floor beside Ian and pulled out his best efforts at persuasion: begging.</p><p>Peeling away the comforter to be met with an exhausted look and an unimpressed groan, Mickey pushed aside the bitter feeling that churned about in his stomach. “Hey, man, I’m sorry,” he began, brushing a thumb over Ian’s cheek gently as he continued, “I know it’s a bad day, and what I’m askin’ is a lot... but I need ya’ to take your meds, drink the water, and eat the toast.” Staring deeply into his boyfriend’s glazed eyes, he cupped his cheek and pleaded with him: “Please! Please just do this for me… I won’t make ya’ do anythin’ else ya’ don’t wanna’. Please.” His eyes brimmed with tears as he waited for any form of response.</p><p>Finally, Ian gave one short, submissive nod.</p><p>Sighing in relief, Mickey moved to help his boyfriend sit up against the headboard, popping a kiss on his forehead before handing him the pills and water. “Good man.” Mickey perched himself on the edge of the bed, smiling at the ginger boy who fought through the lethargy, nausea, and haze of depression to do as requested. Watching Ian truly battle with his mind right now and do the bare minimum that he previously would not have been able to make him feel that his boyfriend had definitely been ready to leave the hospital when he had.</p><p>Satisfied that Ian had eaten, drunk, and taken his pills, Mickey didn’t grumble when the younger boy curled up under the sheets again, instead, nestling behind him and holding him close. Feeling Ian’s heart beating against his palm and the rise and fall of his chest with every breath against his arm soothed Mickey into a gentle slumber.</p><p>But as soon as he was under the veil of sleep, Mickey felt himself being woken by a shrill ringing. Bleary-eyed and feeling worse from the pathetic attempt of a nap than better, the dark-haired boy looked about his room for the source of the offending noise, his eyes finally settling on Ian’s phone that vibrated on the bedside table.</p><p>When Mickey leant over Ian’s form, unsure if the noise had woken him so being careful not to squash him, he saw <em>Kash Karib</em> on Ian’s phone and answered it, hearing the frustrated shop owner’s voice: “Ian?”</p><p>A quick clear of his throat was all Mickey could say as he was climbing out of bed and heading out of his room. “Hi, Kash, it’s Mickey, Ian’s boyfriend.”</p><p>“Mickey? Ian should have been here for his shift half an hour ago-”</p><p>“Ah, shit, sorry, man. Ian’s in a depressive. I… I was gonna’ call ya’, but I forgot – I was busy takin’ care of ‘im. I’m real sorry.” Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling angry at himself for forgetting.</p><p>Kash sighed softly before speaking, “Okay. Umm, it’s fine, I understand. I assume you haven’t seen a doctor yet?”</p><p>“Nah,” Mickey confirmed, “I’m gonna’ call ‘is therapist tomorrow and I can call and update ya’ when I know what’s happenin’? I guess it’ll just be a case of switchin’ his pills and then a couple days for ‘im to adjust, but I’ll know more tomorrow.”</p><p>“Sure, great. Can I get your number?” Mickey agreed and reeled off his number before Kash continued, “Awesome, Mickey. Thanks. Give Ian our best and… just keep us updated.”</p><p>The pair exchanged pleasantries before Mickey hung up and returned to the room to see that Ian lay awake, his eyes clouded with tiredness and a slight mist of worry. “Don’t worry about it,” Mickey said softly, placing a hand on Ian’s stubbly cheek, “Kash just said to get better and keep ‘im in the loop.”</p><p>Ian offered a weak half-smile and a soft nod, allowing his eyes to close again under the comfort of his boyfriend’s touch.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Waking up, Ian’s head felt fuzzy and overstuffed as he heard his boyfriend speaking in the lounge. He heaved the weight of the comforter over his head, feeling weak beneath the semi-protection of the sheets. With his tongue thick in his mouth and his throat drier than a desert, he peeled the comforter down just enough to peek above the hem and hunt for water.</p><p>“Hey, Sleepin’ Beauty,” Mickey’s voice seemed to echo through the room. He sat beside Ian to kiss his forehead and brush his hair away from his face.</p><p>Reaching for the glass of water beside him, Ian managed to take a few sips before mumbling out a small, croaky “Hi.”</p><p>“How you feelin’, man?”</p><p>Ian dragged his eyes up toward Mickey’s blue ones that read a multitude of emotions and tried not to busy himself with understanding them too much, his mind feeling exhausted just from his brief waking moments. “Shit.” He let out a small sigh. “Did you call Clive?”</p><p>“Yeah. He said he has a half-hour free at nine, so we gotta’ get up kinda’ sharpish.” Mickey bit his bottom lip. “Sorry ‘bout that. But… I’ll help ya’ out. I’m here for ya’.” He squeezed the back of Ian’s neck before narrating his actions, “We’re just gonna’ get ya’ out of bed first, okay? So, I need ya’ to work with me here, man.” He pulled back the comforter and then took both of Ian’s hands in his own.</p><p>The reassuring squeeze of Mickey’s hands was returned, and he nodded, indicating for his boyfriend that he was ready to be pulled up. The motion that took him from laying to sitting felt impossible, like every muscle in his body was lead; Mickey wrapped him in a warm hug, and Ian felt himself leaning into the comfort and security. Just getting ready would be a mammoth of a task, and Mickey’s love and support were going to be the crutch that helped him overcome the depression that tried to pull him down.</p><p>In Mickey’s arms, Ian inhaled deeply and felt a few tears slip loose as he whispered, “Thank you.”</p><p>“Don’t gotta’ thank me, dummy. You’re family.” Mickey pressed a kiss into his dirty, ginger locks before shifting Ian’s weight and helping him towards the bathroom.</p><p>Clive was more than welcoming, greeting both Ian and Mickey with a warm smile and extending a hand to Mickey once he had helped Ian to get seated. “Nice to meet you, Mickey, I hear a lot about you – it’s nice to put a face to the name, you know?” The balding man then turned his attention towards his patient, “So, would you like to speak alone or have Mickey remain?”</p><p>“He can stay,” Ian answered, slumping deeper into his chair as he hoped it could absorb the weight and pressure that his entire body, mind, and soul seemed to be crushing him with.</p><p>After discussing Ian’s mood and ‘intentions’ (that was therapist speak for ‘are you suicidal?’ in a nutshell), Clive asked what had happened before Ian’s ‘turn’. Slowly, he explained the entire saga of their night out in chronological order: the tension between him and Mickey on their way to The Alibi Room, Mickey’s confession over Ian’s sexuality combined with Lindsay’s ‘flirtation’, Frank the juggernaut, and then the homophobia.</p><p>“It sounds like what was meant to be an enjoyable night went in a different direction,” Clive observed. “How did you deal with all of the… mishaps… during the night.”</p><p>“I dealt with it the Gallagher way – I drank way too much.”</p><p>Nodding, Clive popped his notepad down on his lap and looked to Ian before speaking, “You’re a smart kid, Ian. You know, I’m sure, that alcohol is a depressant; pair that with the natural response that any person would have after the slew of problems you endured Saturday, and your stoop of depression would make a lot of sense.” He paused as Ian nodded and shrugged. “How have you been getting on with your medication aside from this?”</p><p>“Good… I think?” Ian’s uncertainty prompted Mickey to nod encouragingly, agreeing with his boyfriend.</p><p>“In which case then, I don’t want to tamper with what may be the perfect cocktail. Instead, I want you to take a few days to process everything, and then on Thursday, we’ll reassess. I think that what we can possibly take away from this is that alcohol and your combination of medication don’t mix as well as others may. If you want to keep up with everyone quantity-wise, maybe try lights and less shots.” Clive cleared his throat and reached to take a sip of his drink, the fact that he seemed to have reeled his words off in one breath catching him up.</p><p>Nodding softly, Ian hummed in agreement, mentally cursing ‘the Gallagher way’ and standing to exit his therapist’s office.</p><p>“And remember, one thing a day for yourself – I want a list.”</p><p>Clive’s final words left Mickey looking curiously at Ian, but the younger boy’s exhaustion was visible enough that he decided not to ask anything. Ian appreciated that. Instead, Mickey simply got them back into the car and drove them in the opposite direction of either of their homes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: homophobia, slurs, violence, depression</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter Fifteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’m not going anywhere,” Ian reassured, settling his entire weight on top of the trembling boy, wrapping his arms around his neck to hold him tightly and nuzzle his nose against the delicate skin over his jugular. “I’ll be there tomorrow, too,” the ginger boy insisted, “you won’t have to go through it alone.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Update time. For those of you who don't follow my Tumblr, I finished the second part of the four-part follow-on that ties up this series last night and that's very exciting. After that, I'm intending to start the alt-Mickey college AU, so I'm buzzed af. (Note: I'm struggling to focus so I'm sorry if the TWs are a little off, but I did try!)</p><p>The feedback y'all have been giving is super lovely. Thank you to the lovely seblainersboners on Tumblr for the super cute message last night - this one is for you!</p><p>I say this every time, but I mean it for all writers, not just myself.</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had spent the morning at Lake Michigan, simply sitting and taking in the sun and the fresh air. Ian was somewhat reluctant when they arrived, but had relented when Mickey had said that they weren’t going to walk the entire lake or dive to the bottom and hunt for buried treasure. Instead, they sat on a bench and looked in to the distance, their knees touching softly. They had been peaceful for a short while before Ian began to verbalise his thoughts, as Clive had suggested.</p><p>“It was fucked up… and too soon.” He sighed softly, “W- we did nothing… and they just… I don’t know…”</p><p>“It’s the South Side; unfortunately, ya’ get used to it after a while. I’m… sorry this is how it’s gotta’ be for people like us. I wish it could be better for ya’.” Mickey squeezed Ian’s knee reassuringly, removing his hand quickly though, knowing that Ian would be hypersensitive to any outwards displays of their relationship after the incident on Saturday.</p><p>Nodding softly, Ian hummed and stared out at the lake, watching as occasional gusts of wind would chop in to the rhythmic rolling of the water, rediverting the steady movements in to wild, uncoordinated ones. It was how Ian’s brain felt when his Bipolar shifted from his medication-controlled equilibrium; such a simple thing as getting beaten up (something that Ian wasn’t unfamiliar with given he was Frank’s child) had shifted his mind’s chemistry in one fell swoop. It was infuriating that, even after accepting his Bipolar and taking control of the shitty disease to get himself better, he still didn’t have total authority over the inner workings of his emotions and behaviours.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ian hummed as he laid against Mickey’s chest later that afternoon, absorbing Mickey’s warmth and comfort.</p><p>Mickey pressed a kiss to his forehead before dismissing Ian’s appreciation with a shrug; “It’s fine, man, don’t gotta’ thank me.” There was a pause between them as Ian accepted what his boyfriend had said and nodded softly. “Oh. Ya’ gonna’ call Kash or do ya’ want me to?”</p><p>“I’ll text Linda,” the younger boy decided, accepting his phone as Mickey passed it to him from on the bedside table. “Thanks.”</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (12:47): </strong>
  <em>Hi Linda, sorry for being a let-down yesterday. Therapist said it’s just a little blip with no pill change and that I’m just in a funk after a gay-bashing Saturday. Hoping I can be in for Wednesday. I’ll keep you updated. Sorry again</em>
</p><p>“Hey – no, that’s not fair,” Mickey protested as he saw the message that Ian had sent to his boss. “Ya’ ain’t a let-down, ya’ have a fuckin’ disease, man! Don’t put yourself down like that!” The dark-haired boy’s grip on Ian’s bicep had tightened significantly.</p><p>Unsure of how to respond, Ian stayed silently still, unmoving until his boyfriend’s hand had moved and was gripping his chin and tilting his head up to meet his firm, disapproving eyes.</p><p>“I fuckin’ love you, Ian. I’m not lettin’ ya’ talk shit about yourself like that. You’re fighting shit so…” Mickey sighed softly, his grip on the redhead’s chin softening to caress his cheek – “just don’t shit on your progress like that. Please.”</p><p>Nodding submissively, Ian turned to press a kiss to Mickey’s pec through his tank top. “Love you.”</p><p>Cocking an eyebrow, Mickey’s response was longer than Ian expected: “That’s pretty fuckin’ gay, man.” But it had the desired effect of pulling a laugh from Ian’s lips, the older boy joining in briefly before saying, “But takin’ a dick in the ass makes me pretty gay, so I guess I love ya’ too.” He then tilted Ian’s chin up again, this time to meet his lips as he had leant down to press a soft kiss to the younger boy’s.</p><p>
  <strong>Linda Karib (13:01):</strong>
  <em> Oh gosh Ian, don’t think that! I’m so sorry that happened to you! I hope you’re okay all things considering. Take as much time as you need, just keep me in the loop! I hope Mickey is taking good care of you!</em>
</p><p>Seeing the text that buzzed back from Linda as the pair lay together, Ian felt himself relax and turned the screen for his boyfriend to see better, earning a smile from the older boy and a raised pair of eyebrows that screamed at Ian.</p><p>
  <em>See, what did I say? I told you so!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Linda agrees with me, you’re not a let-down.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Trust me when I tell you things because I will never lie to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cut yourself some slack.</em>
</p><p>“Nobody likes a know-it-all,” Ian grumbled, burying his face in to the fabric of Mickey’s top as his boyfriend scruffed at his hair playfully.</p><p>The older boy then pressed a soft kiss in to his hair before mumbling, “I don’t need ‘nobody’ to, just you, man.”</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Taking care of Ian through until Tuesday evening and seeing his boyfriend begin to fall back in to a somewhat usual swing allowed Mickey a distraction from his anxiety over the hearing the next day. Of course, it wasn’t a perfect solution, and towards the early hours of Wednesday, Mickey awoke in a panic, feeling like he was being strangled by the comforter as he tried desperately to gasp for breath. His heart was beating too fast, threatening to break through his ribcage. The air was too thin, the oxygen saturation insufficient, and his throat tightened with every attempted inhale.</p><p>His name being yelled and his shoulders being shaken vigorously caught his attention enough to have his eyes fly open and meet Ian’s pale complexion staring back at him through the darkness of his room.</p><p>“I’m here, I’ve got you, Mickey!” His boyfriend straddled his waist, stopping his wild thrashing, as hands gripped at his cheeks, rapidly soothing the flushing, damp skin, attempting to pull Mickey from his anxiety attack. “You’ve got this. Just breathe for me.”</p><p>Mickey’s panicked eyes stared up in to Ian’s, trying his hardest to trust his words as he nodded rapidly. He gripped at Ian’s wrists, grasping for support as he attempted to breathe with his boyfriend, struggling for a moment to mimic Ian’s rhythm. Focusing on Ian’s eyes and how his irises spiralled in different shades of green, hazel, and occasional glints of blue, the Milkovich boy slowly was able to settle his breathing alongside the redhead’s. Gradually, his body deflated, and he felt himself slowly shaking with muffled sobs.</p><p>“You did awesome, Mick,” Ian mumbled as he leant his forehead against Mickey’s. “Well done.”</p><p>Feeling Ian’s weight begin to shift from his body, Mickey gripped at Ian’s wrists harder, shaking his head. “No! Please… it helps…”</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere,” Ian reassured, settling his entire weight on top of the trembling boy, wrapping his arms around his neck to hold him tightly and nuzzle his nose against the delicate skin over his jugular. “I’ll be there tomorrow, too,” the ginger boy insisted, “you won’t have to go through it alone.”</p><p>Hearing Ian’s words felt like a moment of safety. Again, he simply nodded and inhaled his boyfriend’s familiar scent as he clung on to his warmth and security, absorbing the reassurance and love that he emanated.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Waking up, Ian felt Mickey tensing within his arms and began to trail gentle patterns up his left arm as he whispered calmly into his ear, “You’re strong, Mickey. You’ve got this. And I’m gonna’ be there with you. Before, during, and after. I’m not leaving.”</p><p>His anxious boyfriend’s body finally began to relax, leaning his head back against the toned chest behind him, and he nodded slowly, his messy hair tickling against Ian’s slight stubble. “I’m afraid to see ‘im,” the dark-haired boy mumbled, “I dunno’ if I’ll be able to do it… with ‘im starin’ at me the whole time.”</p><p>There was a slight shuffle before Ian had Mickey facing him, holding his gaze firmly. “Don’t look at him, just look at me – right at me! You got me?” The dark head nodded, blue eyes trained on green ones. “He can’t hurt you… me, or… any of your family, Mickey. I promise you.”</p><p>No more words were shared between the pair; Mickey leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Ian’s lips, his hands cupping rough, freckled cheeks. But the sweetness was soon lost as the older boy probed for a deeper kiss, his tongue catching against Ian’s and sending electrical pulses through his body and down to his toes. His hands travelled from stubble up to soft, ginger locks that he teased between his fingers.</p><p>Knowing that Mickey’s brain was all over the place with the events for the day, Ian responded but never raised the bar. If his boyfriend wanted to kiss deeper, he would match what Mickey gave but not take any more or less. It was a difficult task given that there was such a hostile side to their sex life – one which they both revelled in and were thankful for. When he had been with Daya, Ian had always had to be gentle; she was such a slender, slim young lady – with the hugest rack Ian had come across in a long time – but Ian had always feared hurting her. With Mickey, there wasn’t a weaker one, they were both strong, firm men, and were both more than capable of receiving as much as they wished to give.</p><p>It was exhilarating and liberating on Ian’s part.</p><p>But right now, it was an insanely difficult pressure between Ian’s legs that he wanted to act on. Having to stay level and not push Mickey or fight for dominance only made his lust increase. Mickey’s teeth catching on to his bottom lip and dragging it back had Ian’s eyes wide as he moaned low into the space between them. He was met by blue eyes that were full of fire and challenged him to stop the hand that trailed down his chest and towards his hip intently.</p><p>“Oh, Mick,” Ian sighed when he felt a warm hand wrap around his erection.</p><p>Mickey’s lips trailed up Ian’s jaw and nipped along his ear before his breath pooled within his ear hotly; “I’m gonna’ fuck ya’ so hard ya’ won’t be able to get up and walk outta’ that courtroom…” The Milkovich boy growled lowly before he took control over the morning for the final time that day.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>For as long as possible, Mickey and Mandy stayed close to Ian, both needing the comfort and ease that he seemed to radiate; he held one of Ian’s hands whilst his sister clutched at the other. Today was going to be harder than trying to defend Jake had been, even more so than it had been to see Jake laying comatose and knowing that he would never leave the hospital outside of a body bag. It made his throat constrict, like Terry’s hands were around his neck and clamping down on his air supply like a python with its prey.</p><p>Without knowing, he must have squeezed Ian’s hand harder, because Ian’s fingers gripped tighter and he felt Ian’s weight and warmth leaning against the side of his arm with more pressure than it had been before. Mickey nodded, well aware that Ian’s eyes were turned towards him questioningly, and took a few slow, measured breaths.</p><p>“Mickey?” A wavering woman’s voice sounded from down the hall, and the three of them turned to meet it, with only the Milkovich children recognising the copper-haired woman who stood a short distance from them. “He looks…” Her words hung loosely in the air as she walked towards them, disregarding the dark-haired siblings to look at Ian with glassy eyes, her line of sight focused and her lower lip trembling.</p><p>Missus Abrahms stood before Ian, her slim frame shaking as she looked up at him, trying to find her son’s blue eyes but only finding green ones filled with concern staring back at her.</p><p>Dropping Ian’s hand, Mickey instantly stepped towards the still-grieving woman, pulling her tremoring form against his chest and holding her tightly. “I know, Carol.” He soothed, feeling her body being wracked with sobs that were muffled by his suit jacket. “I… wasn’t well when I met ‘im… it’s part of the reason I was drawn to ‘im rather than bein’ triggered, but ‘e ain’t Jake in any way. He’s a different person. Ain’t a replacement for Jake – ever.”</p><p>Apparently, he had said the correct thing (something Mickey feared he wouldn’t be able to do), because Carol pulled away with a sniffle and nodded, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit you in the hospital,” the ginger woman looked away from Mickey briefly.</p><p>Shaking his head, Mickey spoke, “Ey, no, don’t be stupid. I didn’t <em>expect</em> ya’ to with everythin’ ya’ were goin’ through. And… I couldn’t get rid of Mandy no matter how hard I tried, so not like I was lonely between her and Ian!” He chuckled softly.</p><p>Mandy popped forward, “It’s true! I totally went even when he didn’t want me to just to make a point.”</p><p>But Mandy’s words were lost on Carol as her focus was once again on the redhead who seemed to be a ghost of her son who had been taken too soon. “Ian…”</p><p>Extending a hand and offering a weak smile, Ian introduced himself: “Hi, Carol, I’m Ian. I’ve heard wonderful things about your son; I’m really sorry for the circumstances now.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Carol’s voice was small, but she nodded her appreciation, her hand holding on to Ian’s for just a little too long. She must have noticed this because she took her hand back and cradled it against her stomach, mumbling out a small “sorry,” as she did. Hesitantly, the sniffling mother waved her arm in a strange gesture over her shoulder and mumbled about Harriet, Jake’s sister, before turning to walk away from them.</p><p>Before anyone could speak, Mickey felt himself physically sag and had to grasp at the wall to attempt to steady himself. His boyfriend and sister were both at his side, prepared to catch him then and when he inevitably crashed later on that evening.</p><p>“Let’s grab a smoke,” Mandy suggested, offering her brother a lopsided smile, “get some trusty nicotine in you before we have to do this.”</p><p>Mickey nodded and lifted his head to meet his sister’s eyes, seeing what was a mask of confidence and ease blocking her fear, anxiety, and worry that stared back at him through the metaphorical eyeholes of said mask. Only years of knowing Mandy and how she could hide her expressions from her face but not from her big, blue eyes would you notice the chink in her armour. Righting his balance, Mickey pushed away from the wall and made to walk down the corridor with the two who would refuse to leave his side, but was unable to even get close to the doors when he heard his and Mandy’s names being called by a familiar voice.</p><p>D.A. Flores was walking from the other end of the corridor towards them, a warm smile on her red lips. She was shorter than Mickey had expected, maybe only just hitting five foot in her heels. She shook both Milkovich children’s hands before asking how they were doing, earning herself non-committal grunts and mumbles from both. “Is this your friend?” The Latina woman asked, finally acknowledging the tower that was Ian Gallagher standing before her.</p><p>“Boyfriend,” Mickey clarified, drawing a small smile on Ian’s lips. “Ian.”</p><p>“Hello, Ian, lovely to meet you. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to take these two away from you now. You’re welcome to take a seat in the courtroom if you’re wanting to stay.” She received an eager nod from the taller boy, and explained, “Okay, great, I’m sure your support will be a big help. If you want to head through those double doors,” she gestured back towards the way she had come from, “in the next ten minutes or so, we’ll be starting soon.” She cleared her throat before addressing the siblings before her, “Now, you two follow me.”</p><p>Looking towards Ian with wary eyes, Mickey hesitated. He felt Ian’s fingers catch his own lightly and give them a squeeze; “Just look at me, I’ll be there the whole time.”</p><p>Nodding weakly, he pulled his boyfriend into a rough hug, probably gripping him tighter than necessary, before following after his sister and the defence attorney who were a few steps ahead of him. The reassuring smile that Ian sent him allowed his stomach to settle for a moment before they entered a wood-panelled room and the door closed behind them, blocking him from his Ian-sized safety net.</p><p>D.A. Flores gestured to a green leather couch for Mickey and Mandy to sit on, and the pair slumped into the firm piece of furniture (which was most definitely not designed for comfort) before the petite woman spoke. “So, thank you both for coming – I know the thought alone is daunting – so, well done.” She cleared her throat and offered a reassuring smile; “I’ve just had the same conversation with Missus Abrahms, so don’t look so worried, it’s just a brief of sorts.”</p><p>As he sat and listened to the small woman, Mickey knotted his fingers in his lap anxiously, rubbing at calloused areas of skin and picking at hangnails absentmindedly, only half there for the conversation. He heard only random words which he couldn’t recall any of their context or significance.</p><p>Terry.</p><p>Jake.</p><p>Evidence.</p><p>Objections.</p><p>Calm.</p><p>Respectful.</p><p>Defamation.</p><p>Personal.</p><p>“Mickey!” Mandy’s hand was on his firmly as she stared at him, her brows pulled up with worry. He felt himself tense beneath her touch and followed the length of her arm to see the reason for her concern; he was like a doe in headlights. “This is too much for him,” she began, her words now trained on the woman standing before them as she grasped the hand which had been scratching at his wrist with a determined pressure and agitation. “Can he not do a video statement or-”</p><p>“No.” Mickey cut off his sister’s words, looking to D.A. Flores. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>The curly-haired woman raised a brow sceptically, asking him “Are you sure?”</p><p>Nodding adamantly, he assured both women in the room: “I have to do it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: referenced homophobic attack, negative self-thoughts, anxiety attack, anxiety</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter Sixteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Okay. If you could please explain in your own word what happened that night in as much detail as possible?”</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Deep breaths, Milkovich.</p><p>You’ve told Perry multiple times.</p><p>You wrote it.</p><p>You said it to Detective Sparkes.</p><p>You can do this.</p><p>You need to do this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here we go, the trial begins. So, the chapters on the trial make me anxious because I've tried so hard to do research for them and really hope that I'm at least somewhere near to where I should be in terms of protocol, terminology, process etc, but obviously the internet can only take you so far and lines blur. But I HOPE they are somewhat believable. And if you know for a fact that they aren't, please let me know and I'll gratefully take the feedback and later accordingly.</p><p>I say this every time, but I mean it for all the creators out there!</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“All rise for the honourable Judge Casey Lowler.” Ian looked around blindly as he stood as directed, trying to find his boyfriend but struggling to. An average-looking woman with grey hair and thin spectacles on walked behind the judge’s bench and took a seat before advising the court to sit.</p><p>She declared the case number (a long combination of numbers and letters which held no relevance to Ian) and then said, “The State of Illinois versus Terry Milkovich in the case of Mister Jake Abrahms. The defence stands accused of involuntary manslaughter, assault and battery, and child abuse.”</p><p>It was impressive how the judge managed to keep a straight face as she listed the charges against the senior Milkovich. It wasn’t even the mention of manslaughter that got to Ian, but the final charge: child abuse. It sounded bitter as it rattled about his head, like a dirty word that could hold endless possibilities. He tried not to let the words affect him too much, instead, focusing on the trial before him.</p><p>Judge Lowler looked towards the table that housed D.A. Flores, speaking calmly, “If the prosecution would like to proceed.”</p><p>The petite woman from the hallway stood up, smoothing out her suit jacket before walking before the judge. “Thank you, Your Honour.” She then turned to the jury and began to speak with such power and conviction that Ian had not expected from her small frame. “The defendant will have you believe that he committed no crime, something which <em>I</em> personally find difficult to believe with the evidence we have. Mister Milkovich has a very colourful criminal record, one which I could stand here and list for yo-”</p><p>“Objection!” The defence attorney called out, cutting off D.A. Flores. He was a tall, broad man with a deep voice, but it lacked the strength of his opposition’s.</p><p>Unlike in the movies, where the judge would say ‘sustained’ or ‘overruled’ and cut off the offending lawyer, D.A. Flores raised a hand, turning on the large man to offer a false smile. “But, if Mister Johnson would have allowed me to finish, I would have advised the court that I have no intention of wasting everybody’s and my own time here.”</p><p>Judge Lowler nodded approvingly for the small woman to continue.</p><p>The prosecutor returned a nod of thanks before continuing, “Instead, I’ve taken to highlight several incidents which support my point: that Mister Milkovich has a history of violent and aggressive altercations, all of which were unwarranted and initiated by the defendant.”</p><p>Mister Johnson stood up, crying “Hearsay, Your Honour!”</p><p>“I have incident reports and witness statements from said incidents which testify to the recurring theme that is the lack of provocation and violent nature of the defendant’s crimes.”</p><p>The judge looked to the district attorney, asking, “Are these reports and statements part of your evidence portfolio?”</p><p>“Of course, Your Honour.”</p><p>The older woman nodded and turned to the defence attorney: “Overruled, Mister Johnson. Proceed, D.A. Flores.”</p><p>The small woman proceeded to outline three incidents which supported her case (an assault on a police officer, and two bar fights where witnesses supported the fact that Terry had lashed out for no reason). As Terry was described, with the defence trying to object to the credibility of witnesses within a bar <em>(“Two witnesses were bar staff, both of whom were noted as being reliable and compliant witnesses by the officers on scene, Your Honour.”</em>) as well as Terry yelling out about how ‘the pig had been looking at him funny’ and that it was ‘white discrimination’. This had earned him a frown from the judge, followed by a harsh shushing and whispered scalding from his lawyer.</p><p>Ian’s observations of the head of the Milkovich family found him to be a rude, disrespectful man whose ignorance and blatant discriminative views made him believe that white supremacy was legitimate and ‘reverse racism’ was a real issue in the world. Court had been in session for almost an hour, and Ian already wanted to stand up and put Terry in his place, to beat him until he was nothing but blood, bone, and teeth. Just listening to his actions, it was obvious that the man didn’t deserve freedom or leniency – he had received it too many times before, clearly.</p><p>When asked if there was any response from the defence before additional evidence was presented, Mister Johnson rightly declined. One couldn’t argue with legal documentation, especially when there was <em>so </em>much of it stacked against them.</p><p>As the results of Jake’s autopsy and medical reports from his hospital admission were presented to the court, Ian’s thoughts travelled to wherever Mickey was currently housed and how much he must be struggling. It wasn’t that he doubted his boyfriend’s strength, but that he knew that loss was hard. Having to dredge up the dire circumstances that had led to that loss and having to relive it all would be even more difficult, he could only imagine. But to then be cross-examined and have someone attempt to discredit him at every turn seemed almost diabolical. So desperately did Ian wish that he could be with his boyfriend, comforting him and holding his hand, attempting to somewhat ward off the demons that he knew would present in that courtroom.</p><p>“Speculation, Your Honour! Broken teeth, bruising and abrasions? Who is to say that Mister Abrahms and the young Mister Milkovich didn’t simply have an argument which became physical?” Mister Johnson was standing up, waving an arm accusatively at the defence attorney whose expression was unwavering, her face firm and prepared for the attack.</p><p>Turning on her heel to face the judge, D.A. Flores spoke confidently: “Thank you, Mister Johnson, that leads me on nicely. I’d like to bring in a medical expert as my first witness to discuss the skin cells which were found under Mister Abrahms’ fingernails, if I may, Your Honour.”</p><p>Judge Lowler processed for a beat before nodding, “I’ll allow it.”</p><p>The D.N.A. analyst was sworn in before taking a seat in the witness box. D.A. Flores then proceeded to ask him about familial genetic patterns, and then about the similarities between a father and son. There was a hint of a coy smile on the Latina woman’s lips when the defence attorney objected again, on grounds of relevance this time.</p><p>“Well, I’m just painting a picture. The post-mortem examination found skin cells beneath Mister Abrahms’ fingernails, cells which matched Mister Milkovich’s D.N.A. – senior, that is.” The dark-haired woman paused for a moment before locking eyes with the defence attorney to clarify, “I anticipated that you would suggest the skin cells may have belonged to the young Mister Milkovich; our specialist was simply explaining D.N.A. breakdown and…” she thought on her words for a moment, “saving us the hassle of having to put the trial on hold so I could source a D.N.A. specialist to reassure the court that the skin cells found under Mister Abrahms’ fingernails belonged to Terry Milkovich because he walked in on something that he was unable to process and he attacked both of the boys, leading to Mis-”</p><p>“Objection! Speculative!” Once again, Mister Johnson’s arm was flailing around as he stood and yelled, his brows furrowed.</p><p>Judge Lowler sat forward in her seat, sending the district attorney a pointed look. “D.A. Flores, that’s enough; strike that from the record. Jurors, please disregard D.A. Flores’ statement.”</p><p>“I apologise, Your Honour. But the fact still stands that there is no possibility of the cells belonging to Mikhailo, it is not scientifically possible, as explained by our expert.” Even when she was being chastised, D.A. Flores managed to convey authority and determination within her ‘apology’. She held the room and controlled the air within it every time she spoke. “I apologise for my unprofessional manner, but Mister Maloney’s testimony is crucial in providing understanding for those who do not have knowledge of D.N.A. composition.” She looked to the judge for a moment, receiving no sign to stop, and continued, “Furthermore, the wounds observed on Mister Abrahms’ hands and arms – which are consistent with defensive wounds, as noted by the state’s medical examiner – along with this D.N.A. evidence support the fact that Terry Milkovich attacked this young boy and caused injuries which led to his death.”</p><p>A small sniffle could be heard from among the spectators, and Ian looked to see Carol a few rows ahead of him, blotting at her cheeks with a tissue which Harriet had handed her. For a large portion of the trial, Ian sat and tried to imagine how Missus Abrahms must have felt seeing Terry Milkovich sat up there – the man who was to blame for her son’s death – and being unable to do anything. He imagined that she felt as helpless as Mickey and Jake had when Terry had unleashed his wrath of anger upon them. Thinking of Mickey in that situation made Ian’s blood boil.</p><p>
  <strong>* * * </strong>
</p><p>He felt sick with the waiting, like his stomach would rip with the number of knots it had twisted itself in to. For two hours, he waited in the panelled room with his sister trying to calm his anxious pacing and absentminded skin-picking, even occasionally stepping in when he began to scratch at his wrist unknowingly.</p><p>When a bailiff finally walked in and called his birth name incorrectly, Mickey stopped in his tracks, sure that he must have worn through the carpet’s previously plush pile.</p><p>“You got this, Mick,” Mandy stood to hug him tightly, as though attempting to force all of her support into him through the contact. Closing his eyes, he returned the hug weakly before nodding and following after the slim man who had summoned him.</p><p>Walking into the court felt familiar, like the times he had gone to sentencing trials for his juvenile crimes before Jake, but this walk towards the witness box felt like a lifetime. He felt Ian’s eyes on him, Carol’s eyes on him, D.A. Flores’ eyes on him, the defence’s eyes on him, and the jurors’ eyes on him. But the only eyes that seemed to make contact with Mickey’s were the ones which had borne down on him hard as the owner had beaten him unconscious.</p><p>The regretfully-familiar grey eyes locked on to his and Mickey stopped, unable to even get towards the witness box as his legs went weak and the oxygen in the room seemed to disappear. He managed to catch himself on the table that had D.A. Flores’ belongings on and colleague seated at it. Gripping at the edge of the dark wood table, Mickey attempted to steady himself, taking a few long, deep breaths.</p><p>Around him, there were a few different cries of various versions of his names, gasps, and he was sure that he heard a short, sharp laugh come from his father. But what he felt were large, familiar hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently as his boyfriend offered soothing words.</p><p>A few people came close to them, asking if Mickey was okay or if he needed a first-aider; the room hummed with a livelier air than his anxiety had brought with it. He tried not to focus on that, allowing Ian’s presence to overwhelm his senses into a gradual sense of calm.</p><p>“Are we really gonna’ believe anything he says? The fuckin’ faggot can’t even-” Terry’s voice carried across the room.</p><p>“Mister Milkovich, be quiet! Mister Johnson, please advise your client better on appropriate trial etiquette. Disregard Mister Milkovich’s outburst.” Judge Lowler was firm as she spoke. “We will take a recess and reconvene in fifteen minutes. Dismissed.” Of course, with Mickey’s situation, people were reluctant to exit the room. “Everybody, out now, this is not a spectacle!”</p><p>The room began to quieten around them, and Mickey felt his body slowly deflate and relax. “Well done,” Ian’s words were soft as they reached his ears.</p><p>When he finally felt able to release his grip on the table, standing upright, he was offered a glass of water and a worried look by the district attorney. “Mickey, are you okay?” After taking a few much-needed gulps of water, he nodded slowly. “What happened?”</p><p>Feeling meek, like an irrational child, Mickey thumbed at his lower lip, mumbling out “He looked at me.” He sighed, shaking off Ian’s comforting touch on his shoulder. “He <em>fuckin’</em> looked at me and I couldn’t do it. I used to take all his shit day in and day out without a problem, now I can’t even look at the bastard!”</p><p>D.A. Flores shook her head softly, “Mickey, that man has put you through a world of abuse and trauma, your reaction is more than understandable.” She paused for a moment before looking towards her assistant and saying, “David, please propose a live feed testimony to the judge immediately – the result of intimidation will have a negative impact on Mickey’s mental wellbeing as well as the quality of testimony he may feel comfortable providing.”</p><p>David, the slim, bald man who had been seated at the table, nodded and knocked on the door to the judge’s chambers, entering promptly after a call to enter. Once he had left, the petite woman before him explained, “I’m confident that seeing how deeply just meeting your father’s gaze – along with your history of mental illness – will be sufficient to get a live feed testimony approved.”</p><p>“Is that… the cameras?”</p><p>She nodded, smiling reassuringly at Mickey, “Yes. You’ll be able to provide your testimony in a separate room via a two-way interface. You’ll be able to see and hear as we do and vice versa, but we will position the camera so that you don’t have to worry about seeing your father.”</p><p>“Okay. Yeah, I… I can do that.” Mickey looked over his shoulder to Ian, the pair sharing a soft glance, before pressing his face into Ian’s chest, sighing in relief as the strong arms enveloped him. The room with the camera and microphone would not provide the same security as his boyfriend’s embrace did, but it would be enough to hopefully allow Mickey to give the testimony that would get his father locked away.</p><p>Seated at a table, Mickey faced the screen which he had been told would be the live feed. A technical support assistant did a quick sound and visual test before he left the room; Mickey was advised that court would be reconvening shortly and that the feed would be live in a couple of minutes. His heart felt like it was racing but at the same time calm. Sure, the process of giving his testimony would be arduous, and would probably induce some hideous flashbacks, but this room and the screen within it provided a small safety that would alleviate some of the fear and anxiety that Mickey had had tumbling about inside of him since he had agreed to testify.</p><p>After being sworn in on a crappy bible that held no significance in his life, he sat down and was greeted by D.A. Flores from within the familiar courtroom. “Hello, Mickey. Can you hear me okay?”</p><p>He nodded, “Yeah. Umm, yes.”</p><p>“Thank you. And can you please confirm if you were at home on the night of Saturday the sixteenth of February twenty-nineteen?”</p><p>“I was, yeah.” His words trembled as he knew where the difficult part came in to play.</p><p>“Okay. If you could please explain in your own word what happened that night in as much detail as possible?”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Deep breaths, Milkovich.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ve told Perry multiple times.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You wrote it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You said it to Detective Sparkes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You can do this.</em>
</p><p><em>You </em>need <em>to do this.</em></p><p>“Mickey?” D.A. Flores’ words held concern as they pulled him from his lapse in concentration.</p><p>“S- so- sorry…” he cleared his throat and crossed his hands on the table. “Yeah. Umm, so Jake came to our house. Mandy was at work. We were just playing Xbox for a little while before going to my room.”</p><p>The district attorney cut him off, noticing his difficulty, and asked, “You’re doing very well, Mickey, take your time.”</p><p>He took a few deep breaths before trying to continue, “Umm, yeah. So then we… had sex…”</p><p>A call could be heard through the feed, and even if Mickey had been unable to recognise the voice, the nature of the words would be enough of a giveaway that they belonged to Terry Milkovich. “Fuckin’ fags!”</p><p>There was a small moment of interruption where Terry was chastised, ordered to stay quiet unless he was on the stand, and the regular process of dismissing his words from the record took place off of the camera. The judge then advised Mickey to proceed with his statement. “Yeah, and then Terry came in durin’ and everythin’ went to shit.” He bit his lip promptly, “Sorry. Bad. Everythin’ went bad.”</p><p>“And do you have any idea of the time during which these events occurred.” D.A. Flores’ question was a lot easier given he had answered it with detective Sparkes’ previously. He explained what he had done to the detective and gave his approximate timings before the Latina woman asked, “And what happened when your father caught you?”</p><p>“He went crazy: yellin’, pullin’ Jake off me and hittin’ ‘im. I tried to stop ‘im but…” His voice cracked and he felt defeated and embarrassed as he tried to force out the end of the sentence: “… he knocked me out before I could even get a decent hit in…”</p><p>“Fuckin’ pussy – I taught you better!”</p><p>“Mister Milkovich! Enough! You will respect the rules of my court or I will have you removed.” Judge Lowler’s tone was bordering on frustrated. Even through the interface, with the quality of speech that was lost with it, Mickey could tell that his father was on his last warning. There was a slight mumbling in the background, which the judge cutting him off abruptly; “Mister Johnson, you’ve had plenty of time to provide appropriate counsel to your client. Neither the court nor I have any more time or patience for his outbursts. He will heed my warning, or he will be removed, end of discussion.”</p><p>Mickey heard a quiet apology before D.A. Flores was asking if he remembered anything else from that night. “I woke up in the ambulance… Jake was next to me… he… was more blood than skin…” He looked down at his fidgeting hands, noticing that he had been scratching at the red patch of skin on his wrist and scrunched his toes tightly, biting his lip as he tried to force his hand away from the near-bleeding skin. “That’s it, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No. Thank you, Mickey. I know that must have been hard.” D.A. Flores smiled at Mickey before asking the judge to allow a small recess before Mickey continued. It was approved and the camera was turned off before Mickey was racing outside for a much-needed cigarette or six.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, panic attack, descriptions of violence, blood, homophobia (slurs)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter Seventeen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He watched as the grey man on trial simply shrugged his shoulders dismissively.</p><p>“You fuckin’ dirty piece of shit!” Mickey yelled, his father’s contemptuous response being the last straw. He wasn’t able to get to his father, though, Ian’s firm body pressed against his as he was all but dragging his thrashing, screaming form out of the courtroom.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heads up, it's a rough one. Sorry! But necessary, nonetheless. </p><p>On more positive notes though:</p><p>1. I wrote a pretty funny lockdown oneshot that I'll be continuing as a series -&gt; https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362833<br/>2. I just finished the penultimate of One Step at a Time, and that means that I literally have one chapter to write and then this series is done, done, done.</p><p>I say this every time, but I mean it for all my fellow creators out there making awesome shit!</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Mickey dragged on the cigarette any harder, he might have swallowed it. Under different circumstances, Ian would have chastised him, but today he would make allowances. As he took one last puff on his own before stamping it out, he saw how Mickey’s brows were firmly knitted together, his grip on the butt of his smoke vicious and white-knuckled.</p><p>“You were amazing,” Ian finally said as he attempted to massage Mickey’s rigid form, trying to ease some of the tension from his stiff shoulders. “Perry would be really proud.” He paused briefly. “So would Jake – I know his mom was!”</p><p>The dark head of hair turned back to look at him, his ever-expressive eyebrows raising high in question. “I couldn’t see her…”</p><p>“She was a little sad, obviously, but if she wasn’t giving your dad daggers every time he said anything, she was smiling. What you’re doing really means a lot to her, I think.” He cautiously pressed a kiss to the back of Mickey’s neck when he had turned around again, feeling his boyfriend sag a little at the small gesture.</p><p>“I hate that I can’t be in there until it’s my turn to testify,” Mandy mumbled as she flicked her smouldering cigarette stub blindly over her shoulder. “Anyways, we better get back in there. Well, you guys. I’ll go back to the fucking naughty box.” She laughed bitterly, successfully hiding the anxiety and unease from Ian, but not from her brother. Pulling Mickey into a quick hug, Ian heard her saying softly, “Don’t let them shit on you at all, they’re nothing.”</p><p>They parted ways in the corridor that they had started the day in; Ian felt as though he could do nothing but sit and watch the atrocity that was to come. He had seen enough trials on TV to know that Mickey would now be questioned by the defence and that the likelihood of them not trying to smear his character at every opportunity was slim. Even more so, he would have to bite his tongue throughout all of it, unable to stand up and attempt to defend him lest he risk tanking the entire case.</p><p>The court reconvened and just like that Mickey was under attack by the firing squad that was Mister Johnson. “Mickey – you don’t mind if I call you Mickey, do you?” He spoke in such a thick, overly-friendly manner that the sarcasm was painful to listen to.</p><p>His boyfriend clearly felt the same, with his image on the screen turning to show disdain. Ian was sure that he was having to physically bite his tongue not to tell the man to fuck off at that point. Instead, he shrugged and awaited the next question.</p><p>“So, <em>Mickey</em>¸ you claim that your father is the cause for yours and Mister Abrahms’ hospitalisation. Is that correct?” A slow nod was Mickey’s response. “And… why didn’t you report the accused incident sooner? You were conscious later that night, correct?”</p><p>Not calling her objection, D.A. Flores simply asked loudly, “What night, Your Honour?”</p><p>When the judge looked to Mister Johnson for clarification, he rolled his eyes once he had broken her stare and directed himself to Mickey: “Sunday the seventeenth, the day you were collected by the ambulance.”</p><p>The deep breath that Mickey took was visible. “I was, yeah. But I was busy grievin’ my vegetable boyfriend. And then, after that, I was busy tryin’ to O.D. my ass into an early fuckin’ grave!” His eyes were wide and angry, daring the defence attorney to question him. Ian didn’t even doubt that his fists were probably clenched to oblivion and his body shaking. So desperately did he want to take the witness into his arms, stroke his hair, and tell him that everything would be okay.</p><p>“Please watch your language, Mikhailo.” Judge Lowler sent a sceptical look towards the camera, receiving a mumbled apology from Mickey.</p><p>“It all seems rather convenient, doesn’t it, though. Perhaps it’s more a case that you simply needed time to compose this testimony.”</p><p>Mickey shook his head fiercely. “No! I was in a nuthouse! I didn’t even know this was happenin’ until the other month!”</p><p>His lips stretching into a slight smirk, the broad man continued, “So, you have mental health issues. Could you… please elaborate on that for me?”</p><p>A sharp bite on his lip. Eyes averted. “Umm, I have B.P.D..”</p><p>“Can you explain to the court what that is and how it affects you?” Mister Johnson stood with his chest puffed out.</p><p>Before Mickey was able to speak, his lawyer was stepping in, coming to his defence. “Your Honour, my client is clearly uncomfortable in this situation. And, furthermore, he is not a trained professional who can attest to his condition and symptoms.”</p><p>“I agree, D.A. Flores. We will bring in a professional on this matter. Cease this line of questioning, Mister Johnson, and move on to your next point, please.” As if seeing the tall man turn to speak, Judge Lowler was short and sharp: “Thank you, Mister Johnson.”</p><p>“Yes, well, I feel the point is enough to question the validity of Mickey’s testimony. No further questions.”</p><p>Ian had to bite his tongue not to fist-pump the air, knowing that that meant that the defence had no other options to try and remove Mickey’s testimony from the record. But it didn’t overshadow the fact that it was a very good card that he could keep up his sleeve until someone more qualified came into the courtroom. Unfortunately, ‘mental health issues’ was synonymous with ‘crazy and unreliable’ to the layman who had been lucky enough to never suffer any problems himself.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>She was fucking brave; he would always give his sister that credit. Unlike him, Mandy had stridden to the witness box and stared their father in the eyes with a fire behind her own blue ones. In a small way, it reminded him of how he had compared himself to her whilst in the hospital, referring to her as ‘a perfect Milkovich’ during an episode of anxiety spurred on by a simple kiss. Or rather, the thought of Ian kissing the preppy douchebag, Tyler, whom he had fucked in the bathrooms not an hour after Mickey had let the ginger boy fuck him for his first time since losing Jake.</p><p>But now, he was going to discover that Mandy was far from a perfect Milkovich, that she was just as broken, damaged, and shattered at the hands of their father.</p><p>“He would hit me. And rape me.” Mandy’s voice was small as she began to explain Terry’s abuse. “One time, he brought friends.” He watched his sister take a deep breath before speaking again, his mouth agape as his clenched fists shook. “If I tried to stop him, or tell him to fuck off, he’d hurt me.” Ian’s hand gripped his tightly, trying to calm his rising anger.</p><p>D.A. Flores maintained a straight face as she nodded, “I’m sorry about that, Miss Milkovich. And… can you tell me what you had to do after these assaults please?”</p><p>“I had to… prostitute myself to pay for an abortion the first time.” His sister’s nude lip quivered as her voice cracked a little. “And… I had to get tested and have S.T.I. treatments, the morning-after pill, and… the third time…” She cleared her throat as she looked down.</p><p>“Objection, Your Honour. This is all hearsay. It all seems rather convenient for the case.” Mister Johnson’s chubby hand had slammed on to the table as he had interrupted the Milkovich girl before she could continue.</p><p>“Yeah, fucking convenient for him, asshole!” Mandy snapped at the defence attorney before Mickey could stand to yell at the dick that was accusing his sister of lying about something so serious.</p><p>There was a call of order before Judge Lowler looked to Mandy to scold her lightly: “Miss Milkovich, language, please.” Directing the next part to the district attorney, she asked, “Do you have any evidence of this at all?”</p><p>The Latina did not get a chance to speak, Mandy jumping in to defend herself. “The third time, the nurse convinced me to get a full screening done. They took evidence. She saw me there before. This was the time after his friends. Mickey was out. I didn’t feel safe. I went there.” Her voice held tears as she continued, “She saw the bruises and convinced me to do it, even if I didn’t want to press charges at that time.”</p><p>A raised pair of neat eyebrows towards D.A. Flores had the petite woman nodding and advising of the article number of the Planned Parenthood report and findings within their evidence portfolio. That shut Terry’s lawyer up promptly, the man sitting back down as his head turned ever so slightly to look at their father. When the Planned Parenthood report was brought up on a television screen for the court to see, the district attorney then proceeded to talk through the results and findings – highlighting Terry’s D.N.A. (along with two other men whose names weren’t familiar to Mickey) and multiple bodily injuries. He watched as the grey man on trial simply shrugged his shoulders dismissively.</p><p>“You fuckin’ dirty piece of shit!” Mickey yelled, his father’s contemptuous response being the last straw. He wasn’t able to get to his father, though, Ian’s firm body pressed against his as he was all but dragging his thrashing, screaming form out of the courtroom.</p><p>There were no words that Ian could say, he simply allowed Mickey to vent his frustrations and lash out at a bench in the corridor. “Why didn’t I notice?” The Milkovich boy mumbled as he slumped down on to the bench with a <em>creak</em>.</p><p>A large, freckled hand rested on his thigh as the words “People don’t always want you to know everything,” fell softly between them.</p><p>“But she coulda’…” He quickly gave up on that sentence, his body slumping with defeat.</p><p>“There was nothing you could do; you didn’t know, and she didn’t want you to. But… you can calm down and go in there and support her.” His boyfriend squeezed his thigh reassuringly before standing and extending a hand to him. Mickey accepted the hand and stood to follow him back into the courtroom, dropping his hand to stuff his own deep into his pockets.</p><p>Returning to the trial felt highly uncomfortable, Mickey’s neck and face burning as he locked eyes with his sister, trying to block out all of the faces that followed him into his seat. He took regular, paced breaths as the court seemed to resume their goings-on, his sister now talking about the night that had brought the court into session it seemed.</p><p>“Sorry about that, Miss Milkovich. Please continue.” D.A. Flores offered her a sympathetic smile.</p><p>Nodding, Mandy thought for a moment, trying to regain her train of thought. “Yeah, so, I heard Terry yelling a little through my headphones, but I couldn’t tell what it was – figured it was his usual drunken bullsh- garbage – so I just ignored it. But when the yelling got louder and there was screaming, I knew it wasn’t good.” She cleared her throat and stammered out a little less confidently, “I… there wasn’t anything I could do… he would have snapped me. I… had to wait him out.” Wiping at her nose, Mandy sniffled a little. “Took off my headphones and waited… until I heard him leave. Then I went in, found them both unconscious and looking like a scene from <em>Dexter</em>, so I called the paramedics; I couldn’t wake them up… I tried…”</p><p>The anguish in his sister’s voice broke Mickey’s heart, pulling tightly at his chest. Her eyes were on him as she spoke, and she tried desperately to make him see that she was sorry; he sent the silently-crying girl a tight-lipped smile and shook his head. She had no reason to apologise, she had done what he would have told her to do: stay safe from him.</p><p>A ten-minute recess was called, allowing Mickey to pull his weeping sister into his arms and hold her tightly as she shook with tears in the corridor, attempting to spit out broken apologies into his chest. “No. I’m sorry I didn’t know.” He spoke into her hair as he bit his lip not to cry himself. Whatever his sister was sputtering out, Mickey was unable to make sense of it, so he settled for soothing a hand through her hair and shushing her.</p><p>Once her shaking had subsided and her sobs softened, she looked up to the familiar icy eyes, her own watery and searching, and simply nodded firmly; we’ll get him. “Yeah,” He offered her one last squeeze before quickly lighting a cigarette and attempting to get as much nicotine into his system in as little time as possible.</p><p>As they turned to head back in, Mickey felt Ian catch his hand quickly and turned to meet the green eyes that stared at him. Much like with Mandy, no words were spoken; Ian’s narrow smile and clap on the shoulder were enough for the older boy to interpret Ian’s support and comfort that would be on offer at every moment that Mickey needed it.</p><p>Silence was long forgotten for the rest of the day, with Mandy’s cross-examination being just as aggressive as her brother’s had been. She was in tears and yelling – earning Mister Johnson an interruption from D.A. Flores – as her brother sat mumbling curses and insults under his breath, gripping at Ian’s hand like a woman in labour.</p><p>A key trait among the Milkovich children was that they were all fiercely loyal and defensive and would step in in a heartbeat to defend one another from slanderous remarks. As such, remaining seated and keeping his comments to himself was a difficult one for Mickey. So desperately did the youngest Milkovich want to stand up and punch the defence attorney square in the nose for every single nasty insinuation and implication he made towards his sister.</p><p>In hindsight, he was glad that Mandy had not been able to see his own testimony and the defence’s response to it, knowing full well that attacks on his mental health set Mandy off like a bull who only saw red from every which way. Having seen his fair share of <em>serious</em> trials on TV, which strayed away from misdemeanours and minor charges which he had first-hand experience in, he knew that outbursts could throw a person’s testimony out just like that.</p><p>It was abundantly clear that Mickey’s testimony was the main pillar for their case against Terry, and that if that was thrown out then they were probably screwed. And the fact that his shitty mental health – courtesy of Terry and the abundance of childhood trauma growing up with him had provided – was in question left an unease in Mickey’s stomach that didn’t even dissipate in the slightest when the court session was finished for the day.</p><p>As they drove home, with Ian captaining their crappy car (not quite as smoothly as he or Mandy did, but not bad for someone who had probably never even taken any formal driver’s ed classes), Mickey sat in the passenger seat and stared out into nothingness, feebly trying to ward away his thoughts. D.A. Flores had advised them that she would reach out to a professional and that, when they agreed to testify, another date would be set within the next few days. Once the issue of Mickey’s mental health was ‘cleared up,’ as the district attorney had phrased it, the judge would then hear from Terry and ‘any witnesses the defence managed to pull out of thin air’ before closing statements and jury deliberation took place. Throughout the debrief with the lawyer, Mickey and Mandy had both numbly nodded along, not in a state to converse past grunts and silent gestures.</p><p>
  <em>“Why didn’t you call the police if the incident was as bad as you say it was?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I… I didn’t know… I didn’t think it was as bad. He gets like that sometimes, usually punches a wall… I didn’t…” Mandy grasped at her chest. “I’m sorry!”</em>
</p><p>His sister’s broken, defeated apology echoed through Mickey’s head on repeat throughout the remainder of the day. It was a very clear two-way road between the siblings: both of them would kill for the other. And yet Mandy had been attacked for not calling the police – like that was something Milkoviches did – and he knew that his sister held a lot of guilt over that action. The pleading ‘I’m sorry’ that she had let out had projected her turmoil, regret, and hurt even without the tears that had accompanied it. But he knew she would begrudge herself for not acting differently, being assured of the fact when he caught his sister sneaking glances at him that were paired with anxious, tight-knit brows and trembling lips.</p><p>When they locked eyes, his sister stood up from the couch to head for her bedroom quickly, a small, broken noise echoing in her wake. It hurt to know that his sister seemed to be more focused on punishing herself for that night than to allow herself to grieve for what Terry did to her. But he was unaware of when those events had taken place, not having been within the courtroom to see the date of her evidence, and wondered if they had been so long ago that she had simply made peace with them, or that they had been so much more frequent than she had stated that they eventually felt less traumatic than they initially had done.</p><p>Standing at her door, Mickey knocked softly before entering her room, not hearing an invitation, and sitting on the bed beside the shaking form that lay on the bed, face shielded in her pillows. Putting a hand on her forearm, he allowed it to rest there as he simply said, “Whatever goes down in court, nothin’ changes between us. We don’t- neither of us did nothin’ wrong… and we can’t change nothin’.” He exhaled softly, feeling his own eyes well up slightly; “Me and you, Mands, we’re family – ain’t nothin’ changin’ that.”</p><p>The dark head of messy hair turned from within her pillows to offer him a weak, tear-stained smile and a nod. “I love you, ass-breath.”</p><p>“You too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, referenced implied rape, referenced abuse</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter Eighteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“So, what’d I miss?” The lanky man stepped through the gap between his siblings to sit at the top of the porch, dragging on the joint.</p><p>The pair looked to one another, attempting to stifle their laughter for a moment and failing. “Nothin’ much, just tryna’ send Dad to jail. How ‘bout you?” Mickey giggled as he waved a hand over his shoulder, grasping at air for the joint.</p><p>“Oh, shit, that was…” Iggy’s voice was weak and uncomfortable as he placed the much-needed smoke between his brother’s fingers.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope all of you and your families are keeping safe!</p><p>Not much left to go after this one! And I'm about a quarter to a third of the way through writing the last chapter of One Step at a Time and then I'll probs focus on my Life in Lockdown series for a little bit before I start anything big.</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No, ignore him. He’ll be in, Linda!” Mickey called as he yanked the phone from Ian’s hand to hang up the call, sending his boyfriend a stern look. The ‘what the fuck’ look that Ian returned was soon replaced by one of protest as Mickey explained, “You’re not callin’ in sick for me. I’m fine. Me and Mandy are just gonna’ watch movies.”</p><p>The truth was, Mickey knew that money was always an issue within the Gallagher household, meaning that Ian really couldn’t afford to miss any more shifts than he already had. And he wasn’t being dishonest, he and sister probably <em>would</em> watch a movie, but Mickey would also take some of the extra day’s holiday to sleep and hide from the anxious thoughts that had plagued his sleeping and waking hours.</p><p>“Honest, I’ll be fine.” He sent the younger boy a modest smile, trying his hardest to convince Ian of his… fine-ness. “I’ll… call if I’m not…” The offering seemed to somewhat sway Ian, and after a somewhat reassuring “Promise,” Ian submitted, standing to pull Mickey against his chest for a strong embrace. Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired boy allowed himself to be held, basking in Ian’s warmth before responding briefly to the chaste kiss that was being placed on his lips. And as quickly as the kiss had come, it was gone, and the same was soon said for Ian, who reluctantly left the Milkovich siblings as instructed.</p><p>Once alone, Mickey retreated back to his bed, shielding himself from the trial to come with broken sleep and misty dreams that barely had a chance to turn to nightmares, his body jolting him from sleep just in time, like a defence mechanism. It was something he felt grateful for, feeling in a very difficult mindset already without the added mental ambush.</p><p>“Mickey…” His sister’s soft words pulled him from his slumber, and he opened his eyes to see her looking at him with concern. He raised an eyebrow in question. “It’s nearly three, you’ve been sleeping for ages – you at least need to eat something.”</p><p>“I’m not hungry.”</p><p>Shrugging, Mandy suggested, “I guessed as much… and figured a little weed might help with that?” She waggled her eyebrows, but he could see the need behind her eyes: she was struggling just as much as he was, but Mandy craved company rather than the isolation that her brother had. “So?”</p><p>Pretending to exaggerate his time to think over the decision, Mickey finally nodded, throwing the comforter back to sit up on the edge of the bed and wait for the pins and needles to disappear from his limbs. “Get grindin’, I just need a minute.”</p><p>When his sister had left the room, he allowed himself to simply collect his thoughts and attempt to rationalise over his emotions. Anger, fear, unease, worry. None of them were positive feelings, and he knew that he needed to get away from them. Negativity spurred on by anxiety was like an itch beneath his skin that he would never be able to scratch, particularly one beneath scarred wrists that felt uncomfortably agitated.</p><p>Quite literally, this trial and his father were under his skin, and he needed to keep on top of how he let it affect him. He sat with his arms resting on his knees and his head cradled in his hands, gripping at his hair as he tried to will himself into a sense of calm.</p><p>
  <em>“Compartmentalise, Mickey. Break it up in to separate elements. You can’t fix the world in a day, but you can definitely try to work on one of the smaller issues that make the major one.”</em>
</p><p>Perry’s genius had Mickey making a list in his head.</p><p>Anger. At Terry. At himself. At the world. Terry had brought them up in a world that lacked love and nurture, committed atrocious acts, and gotten away with a lot of it. Finding out about some of those things was what made him angry at himself. But Ian was right, he couldn’t do anything if Mandy didn’t want him to know. But his protective nature made him feel like he <em>had</em> to be able to know these things.</p><p>
  <em>“You’re not omniscient, Mickey. You’re human. You can’t know and control everything – nobody can.”</em>
</p><p>As though agreeing with his old therapist’s words, Mickey nodded slowly, trying to absorb the facts and make himself believe them.</p><p>Fear and worry. Losing the case – being the reason for it! Losing himself. The next court session would see a specialist commenting on Mickey’s condition, allowing the court to decide whether Mickey was a believable witness if not. And he knew that Mister Johnson would attempt to drag him through the mud, something he knew would be difficult and embarrassing. But he had suffered worse and come out better for it.</p><p>
  <em>“Win or lose, people will have heard our truth,” D.A. Flores assured Mickey after he had voiced his concerns of him losing them the trial during their debrief at the end of the day.</em>
</p><p>Unease. Being under the microscope during the trial and being picked out on things that he had said made him feel unsure of how to conduct himself. Even out of the courtroom, how was he supposed to act; he was mourning the loss of Jake all over again, but he also had Ian by his side at every turn. The session had made him feel like a failure, reliving his actions after Jake, and yet he was in his best place (trial aside). His feelings were like a bucketful of juxtaposition that needed to get their shit together.</p><p>“We’re South Side – <em>not </em>having our shit together is us <em>having</em> our shit together!”</p><p>Turning, Mickey saw his sister standing in the doorway. “Huh?”</p><p>“Getting your shit together,” Mandy elaborated before walking over to show him a flimsy joint. “You were in here a while so I rolled one myself, but I can’t work with these ‘natural’ skins like you can…”</p><p>“Pussy-ass bitch,” Mickey chuckled before standing up and taking the joint from his sister, flinching as his comment earnt him a sharp punch in the bicep. “’Ey, easy,” he grumbled as he quickly punched her in return and then ran away before she could retaliate.</p><p>The moment of childishness banter felt like easier days, almost like the playful moment between himself and Ian last Friday. It made a warmth spread through his stomach that seemed to fuel his deep laughs as the pair sat on the front porch in the late afternoon sun, smoking lazily.</p><p>“Iggy!” Mandy’s lips stretched into a wide grin as she saw their older brother climbing out of a black pick-up, throwing a duffle over his shoulder. “Where’ve you been, big bro?”</p><p>“Jesus, I go on one run and you guys are flying through the weed without me?!” Iggy’s bag was dropped to the floor to swiftly snatch the pungent roll-up from his sister’s hand, earning a lazy whine of protest from the dark-haired girl. “So, what’d I miss?” The lanky man stepped through the gap between his siblings to sit at the top of the porch, dragging on the joint.</p><p>The pair looked to one another, attempting to stifle their laughter for a moment and failing. “Nothin’ much, just tryna’ send Dad to jail. How ‘bout you?” Mickey giggled as he waved a hand over his shoulder, grasping at air for the joint.</p><p>“Oh, shit, that was…” Iggy’s voice was weak and uncomfortable as he placed the much-needed smoke between his brother’s fingers.</p><p>“Yep! It was a fuckin’ shit show!” Mandy said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Thanks for the support as Dad’s lawyer tried to tell me that Dad and his friends didn’t rape me, that Mickey and me made up this whole thing, and that Mickey is too fucking crazy to be believed.” By now, Mandy was standing up on the step she had been seated on, staring down at the newcomer as her voice became firmer, less forgiving. “Honestly, couldn’t’ve fucking done it without you, Ig!”</p><p>Mickey saw the fierce rage that bubbled out through the relaxant that was the marijuana, the hurt that brimmed her eyes with tears. She said no more as she simply stomped past her brothers to go in the house. The look of uncertainty from Iggy earned a small headshake from Mickey: don’t follow her, just give her time.</p><p>“I… am sorry, man…”</p><p>“Nah, it’s okay. I mean, she’s right, it was… it was brutal, man. But… ya’ know…”</p><p>When prompted by his older brother, genuine concern and interest behind his eyes, Mickey then proceeded to retell the previous day’s events and how much it had impacted him and Mandy. By the time he had finished speaking, his eyes were misty and heavy, and he took a few shaky breaths before looking into Iggy’s eyes with a deep sigh pushing through his lips.</p><p>“I’ll be there next time.” Iggy insisted, putting a hand on the dark-haired boy’s shoulder firmly. “I didn’t mean to… I just didn’t think. I really do love you guys. D- d’you think she knows that?” His once-strong eyes seemed desperate as he spoke.</p><p>Running a hand down his face, Mickey waited silently for a moment before answering. He hoped that Mandy understood, but his sister was her own person who had suffered her own traumas, and he was sure that she knew deep down that both of her brothers’ love was unquestionable, but… Iggy wasn’t there. She was right, he hadn’t even given the trial a second thought. Sure, Iggy was always fun and seemed able to slot in between himself and Mandy with ease, but it had never been the same.</p><p>His older brother had never visited him when he was in the hospital, never stepped between their father’s hand and Mandy, and never really been capable of that natural care and consideration for his siblings as was innate for Mickey and Mandy. But Iggy had always been more their father than their mother; Terry had the emotional range of a teaspoon when it came to anything that wasn’t anger, so Mickey had to remind himself that Iggy just having an interest in his sister’s wellbeing was already a big step.</p><p>“Yeah, Ig, I’m sure she does. Just… we need ya’ a little more right now…” Iggy nodded solemnly, his entire body drooping with the knowledge that he had not been there for his baby brother and sister.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Trying to focus at work was difficult when all Ian could think about was his boyfriend and hope that he was keeping himself safe at home with Mandy. He managed to make it through half of the day without arousing suspicion from either of his bosses. But when Ian was about to head off for his therapist appointment, Kash relieved him of his register duties, saying that Linda wanted to speak to him out back before he left.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay to be back?” The petite woman crossed her arms over her chest as she looked up to Ian. “You’ve been distracted and not your usual chirpy self. Don’t think I’m pulling you up, I’m just concerned.”</p><p>Shrugging lightly, Ian ran a hand through his hair before responding softly, “I’m good… in me. I’m just worrying about Mickey. Yesterday was the trial and… it was pretty hard.” He sighed softly. “Also… there’s going to be another session in the next few days and…”</p><p>“Just let me know the minute you do – I’ll get Kash to get off his ass and cover you,” Linda smiled sympathetically. “And please make sure that you take care of yourself during all of this. As a parent and wife, I know the temptation to focus on a loved one when they are in a difficult time and neglect yourself. Please don’t do that.”</p><p>“Thanks, Linda. I’m… gonna’ get to my session now, if that’s okay?” The woman before him seemed reluctant to let him leave but nodded nonetheless.</p><p>After a very standard ‘post-depression’ session with Clive, which had felt very nostalgic of those of the same nature he had participated in with Tanya, Ian took a moment on his walk back to the store to send a text to his boyfriend, crossing his fingers for a speedy response.</p><p>
  <strong>Ian (14:03):</strong>
  <em> Just checking you’re okay – hope you managed to get some more sleep! I finish at 5 if you wanted me to come over?</em>
</p><p>He didn’t receive a response until much later on, and the waiting period for that text had felt like a lifetime. Ian sloppily stacked canned vegetables and soups, not even bothering to turn the labels fully forward like he usually would, as he tried his hardest not to think of Mickey laying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood.</p><p>By four o’clock, Ian was getting panicky, checking his phone every few minutes. Only when a customer came in and he was serving did his phone go off in his pants pocket; it was like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. Of course, the elderly man wanted to dictate how Ian bagged his groceries, insisting on the boy rearranging it twice. And then when he decided to count out his small change on to the counter slowly, wanting to relieve himself of the copious amounts of coins that must have weighed him down on his way to the Kash and Grab, the redhead felt his fingers and toes clenching behind the shelter of the counter.</p><p>“Have a nice day,” Ian forced out through gritted teeth, his false smile coming out as more of a grimace. As soon as the balding man was out of sight, the cashier snatched his phone from his pocket so quickly that he almost dropped it. Thanks to his R.O.T.C. training, his reflexes were hot enough for him to catch it before it could become acquainted with the floor tiles.</p><p>
  <strong>Mickey (16:09):</strong>
  <em> Okay. Little stoned. Not dead. Hot date with me and some mac n cheese after?</em>
</p><p><strong>Ian (16:16):</strong> <em>Sounds great! Need me to get anything?</em></p><p>The short response of ‘horny’ from his boyfriend was enough to have Ian’s previously anxious demeanour replaced by an excited, eager one. It wasn’t even an excitement spurred by the prospect of sex, it was about seeing his boyfriend looking a little more like his boyfriend than the broken boy he had the day before.</p><p>With the excitement bouncing about his body, Ian’s shift seemed to fly to a finish, with Kash coming to man the store for the rest of the evening with an indifferent smile. “Are you able to work earlier tomorrow, Ian?”</p><p>“I should be able to. What times you need me for?”</p><p>“Think you could be here to take over from open ‘til… say, two-ish?” When Ian nodded in agreement, Kash smiled his thanks. “Great, I’ll see you then. Have a good evening, Ian.”</p><p>As Ian walked back towards the Milkovich house, he decided to quickly stop into his own home as he passed it, realising that he had not been there for a week due to the weekend’s antics, his mental blip, and then the trial.</p><p>Being able to unlock the door himself and not have to wait to be let in, the natural Gallagher household smell (a mixture of forgotten coffee, smoke, and cheap detergents and cleaners used to mask the former), and the regular chatter of his younger siblings hit him right in the gut. Walking into his home felt like a hug from Fiona, it smelled like Carl’s melted Action Men, and it made that familiar <em>squelch</em> noise of his feet stepping in some of Liam’s discarded food on the floor.</p><p>“Hey, sweet face!” Fiona’s lips pulled in to a cheery grin when she spotted Ian standing at the end of the butcher’s block in the kitchen. She quickly wiped her hands on her top (which Ian was sure was one of Lip’s that he had worn when he wasn’t quite as bulked) and pulled her younger brother into a warm embrace. “Boy have I missed you – feels like forever since I’ve seen you!” He felt his cheeks flush slightly as she held him at arm’s length to examine him. “You doin’ okay? Mickey texted Lip.”</p><p>Nodding slowly, Ian looked away from his sister’s big, brown eyes, suddenly feeling like the independence he had at the Milkovich home had evaporated in the heat of the pasta on the burner. Of course, Fiona was asking out of concern and not to belittle him in the slightest… it was just that that was how it made him feel. “Just a little too much drink… saw Frank and he basically yelled about me being in the hospital in front of Mick’s work. We then drank to shitty dads for the rest of the night.”</p><p>“I think we all have in this house,” Fiona snorted with an eye-roll before turning at the sizzle of water bubbling over the saucepan to stir the pasta and turn the heat down. “And… is stuff good with Mickey?”</p><p>A small shrug. “Trial is pretty tough on both of them, but otherwise good.”</p><p>“I meant between the two of you,” his sister winked playfully.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good. I… are you okay with me staying there? Like, you know I’ll still put in the squirrel fund, but… are you guys okay otherwise?”</p><p>Once again, the family dinner was neglected as she walked to stand before her skyscraper of a brother, putting a hand on either of his shoulders as she spoke firmly: “You deserve to be happy, Ian – that’s all we want for you – and if that means you being happy somewhere else, then you don’t even need to worry about us.” She hugged him again, pulling him tightly against her chest as she spoke. “We’re family whether we’re together or not, just don’t be a stranger.” Ian could hear the sniffle in his sister’s voice before she popped a kiss on his cheek.</p><p>“I love you, Fi,” Ian whispered into her dark curls as he pulled his sister impossibly closer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, drug-use, overthinking</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter Nineteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“It’s your day off…” Mickey trailed off, his eyes darting to the side, looking at the door. “We only got the call this morning.”</p><p>“I said I was there for all of it: before, during, and after.” He placed a hand on either of his boyfriend’s cheeks, caressing his fresh-shaven skin. “I am.” Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to the shorter boy’s forehead. “How long do I have?”</p><p>“You don’t-”</p><p>Cutting Mickey off, Ian simply repeated softly, “How long?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This evening I finished the final chapter of OSAAT and the final chapter of this series. I'm a little emotional but super excited to finally have it all done and out there for you. Idk what direction I'm gonna go in after this totally as I want to write some original fiction but I'm probs gonna try and finish the lockdown oneshot series and maybe do that alt-Mickey college AU. <br/>I say this every time, but I mean it for all writers, not just myself.</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waiting for Ian, Mickey bounced his foot on the coffee table anxiously, checking his phone to see that it wasn’t far from six.</p><p>
  <em>Everything is fine. Ian is fine.</em>
</p><p>Since the trial, there had been a small paranoia within Mickey (not that it hadn’t been present since his discharge from the hospital) that Terry would use his ‘connections’ to get to him, Mandy, Ian, or anyone Terry saw fit to use as a threat against his children. But he was well aware of the fact that it was more than likely exactly that: paranoia. Nevertheless, he allowed himself to somewhat indulge the concern, scrolling to his boyfriend’s name to call him.</p><p>It rang three times.</p><p>“Hey! Shit, I’m sorry I’m late. I’m okay though. I just stopped home to grab some fresh clothes and show my face. Fi and I got talking.” Ian was tripping over his words, clearly knowing where Mickey’s mind had gone. “I should have texted you, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“’Ey, it’s fine, I was just worryin’ a little. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Mickey’s tone was soft, content to know that his boyfriend was safe and well.</p><p>“No, I’m on my way over now. I was literally walking out of the door when you called. I’ll see you in five.”</p><p>Mickey stood up, walking into the kitchen as he spoke. “Okay, I’ll get the mac ‘n’ cheese started then!” He grinned slightly, excitement trickling through into his body as he set about preparing the food, pouring the dried pasta and powdered sauce mixture sachet into a saucepan. Lightly, he hummed as he moved to the fridge for milk and butter.</p><p>“You want any- oh, hey, Lip.” Mickey felt uncomfortable as he stood in the doorway of his sister’s room; “I’m makin’ mac ‘n’ cheese – you want some puttin’ on?”</p><p>“Nah,” Mandy shook her head from where she lay on her bed against Lip’s chest, “we’re gonna’ order Thai. Thanks, though.” She gave her brother an appreciative smile, thanking him for checking in on her after her outburst at their older brother.</p><p>He nodded, his lips pulling in to a half-smile at one side, tipping his head to Lip before he left the room, closing the door behind him and allowing his worry for his sister wane slightly in the knowledge that Lip was there for her in the interim.</p><p>Stirring the contents of the saucepan, Mickey tapped a foot against the linoleum as he waited for his boyfriend to arrive. The day had been hard, especially having to retell the events of the trial to Iggy, but what had been harder was telling Ian to go to work. So desperately had Mickey wanted to leave Ian to his devices on the phone to Linda, to let him tell her that he wouldn’t be in because he needed him, but Mickey would not be the person to hold Ian back in his life. Their mental illnesses and the resulting episodes that came with them meant that both of them had suffered enough lost time and life interruptions. It was just… difficult; he had to almost apply some church and state logic, just with more blurred lines due to the selfish desire to want to have his senses completely consumed and overwhelmed by everything Ian Gallagher.</p><p>When Ian’s knocking on the front door echoed through to the kitchen, Mickey turned the burner to low and went to let his boyfriend in with a smile. Opening the door let in not only a cool breeze that chased Ian into the hallways with the evening air but also a warmth that engulfed Mickey’s insides</p><p>“Hey,” he hummed after Ian had shut the door and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away quickly before Mickey could deepen it (though not for lack of trying).</p><p>His lips pulling up at one corner, Ian mimicked a smooth “Hey,” and winked playfully as he sneaked a hand to pinch at Mickey’s ass playfully. He walked through to the kitchen to take over stirring the pasta before it burned to the pan.</p><p>Should that little pinch to his butt cheek have made him horny? No. Did it? Too fucking right it did. Pair the pinch with the aesthetic of Ian-fucking-Gallagher, all fucking smooth planes and bone structure for days, and the knowledge that he didn’t want anyone’s ass but Mickey’s and that pinch did a lot. Groaning, Mickey rubbed a hand up his face and through to his hair before following after the younger boy.</p><p>“How was work?” Standing behind Ian, chest flush to back, the dark-haired boy looped his arms around the younger’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.</p><p>“You know, same old,” Ian responded coolly, pressing back into his boyfriend almost unnoticeably. “Could think of better things to do…”</p><p>Oh. The sneaky bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t pushing Mickey into sex, he was simply teasing, doing the small and subtle things that he knew drove Mickey wild. “Yeah?”</p><p>Ian hummed as he ground his hips backwards ever so slightly. “Yeah, like eating this amazing mac ‘n’ cheese that you made me make us!” He grinned as he then promptly shuffled himself out of Mickey’s arms with the saucepan in hand, moving to place it on the counter and dish it up as he left his boyfriend feeling a warmth turning in his stomach.</p><p>“Of course,” Mickey replied dryly, scowling at the redhead’s back as he readjusted his boxers through his sweatpants. Accepting the bowl from the lightly smirking idiot that he called his boyfriend, the Milkovich boy stalked into the lunge and plonked himself on the couch with a short exhale.</p><p>As he shovelled his food into his mouth, he could almost <em>hear</em> Ian’s smug expression and feel his sideward glance boring a hole into his temple. “What?” Mickey grunted, turning to meet the redhead, a false firmness across his face.</p><p>“‘What’ what?” A face like a cherub, Ian looked down at Mickey through his lashes.</p><p>Nope, he was not dignifying that with a response. Mickey simply took Ian’s food from him, earning a small groan, and placed both bowls on the coffee table before roughly swinging a leg over the younger boy’s lap and kissing him roughly. “Fuckin’ tease,” Mickey mumbled between kisses.</p><p>Ian’s fingers tickled through the short hairs at Mickey’s nape as he pulled back briefly to stare into the blue eyes and mutter “Dunno’ what you’re talking about,” into the space between them.</p><p>“Ya’ fuckin know I’m a stress-sex advocate,”</p><p>“Mmm, big words get me so horny…” He grinned before moving his head to kiss his way up Mickey’s neck, “Keep going!”</p><p>Mickey turned to give Ian better access, moaning softly as he felt Ian’s teeth nip at the delicate skin. “Hideous day… excessively exhausting…” His laugh mixed with a short, sharp exhale as his boyfriend’s mouth sucked hard on the spot just beneath his ear, his tongue massaging the skin as he did. “Would… presumptuous of me… bedroom?”</p><p>“With words like that, never!” Ian abruptly stood up, holding Mickey as he walked them towards the older boy’s bedroom whilst still sucking marks into the owner’s neck, kicking the bedroom door shut behind them loudly when they were in there.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>A knocking and shushed swearing woke Ian. Blinking into the dim lighting of the room, he saw his boyfriend at the bottom of the bed, muttering under his breath as he clutched at his foot. “Everything okay?” He asked, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up, propping himself up on one elbow.</p><p>“Fuck, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Mickey righted his posture after one final rub of his foot. “Yeah, just... stubbed my toe. All good.”</p><p>Ian raised a sceptical brow, giving the slacks and shirt a questionable once-over; “What’s with the clown suit?”</p><p>“I, umm, I didn’t wanna’ bother ya’.”</p><p>Seeing the dark-haired boy fidgeting with his hands and shuffling on the spot caused a pull in Ian’s stomach. He got to his feet, gripping at Mickey’s upper arms as he tried to seek out eye contact. “It’s today, isn’t it?” His voice was soft as he moved to catch Mickey’s chin and redirect his focus, locking green eyes with blue.</p><p>“It’s your day off…” Mickey trailed off, his eyes darting to the side, looking at the door. “We only got the call this morning.”</p><p>“I said I was there for all of it: before, during, and after.” He placed a hand on either of his boyfriend’s cheeks, caressing his fresh-shaven skin. “I am.” Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to the shorter boy’s forehead. “How long do I have?”</p><p>“You don’t-”</p><p>Cutting Mickey off, Ian simply repeated softly, “How long?” Upon being told he had about ten minutes at a push, the redhead dropped one final gentle kiss to his forehead again before heading off to the bathroom to quickly get himself ready.</p><p>After a rushed morning routine and a haphazard effort to pull himself into pants and a shirt, Ian walked out of the bathroom to see Iggy standing beside his uncomfortable-looking siblings, pulling at the neck of his shirt. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road, then,” Iggy announced, abruptly heading to the door, the others following behind him without a word.</p><p>“Thank you, everyone, for reconvening at short notice,” Judge Lowler addressed the courtroom before sitting down. Once the minor shuffling of people sitting down had quietened, she gestured towards D.A. Flores with a gentle nod of her head.</p><p>“Thank you, Judge.” The district attorney stood up, smoothing out her blazer, and smiled her thanks to the older lady before them all. “Yes, so, I’m bringing in a professional to speak on Mikhailo’s mental health after Mister Johnson’s cross-examination during our last session.”</p><p>Ian dreaded whoever was about to be sworn into court, knowing that the court-approved professional would be someone who would have spent last night quickly looking over Mickey’s notes and drawing brief conclusions about his boyfriend’s mental state during the situation. Ian wasn’t stupid, he knew that Mickey declaring suicidal thoughts and acts after the incident would not bode in his favour – a self-admission into a mental institute would be the cherry on top of the cake!</p><p>And, clearly, Mickey had these same worries as his grip on Ian’s thigh was like a cobra clamping its jaws around its prey. Ian soothed the back of his hand as the older boy hung his head, staring down at his boots. But his head immediately shot up as a familiar voice carried through the courtroom during their swearing-in, his grasp on the younger boy’s leg relaxing as he turned to meet him with hopeful, child-like eyes.</p><p>Smiling in relief, he knocked his shoulder against Mickey’s, seeing the slight easing of the storm that had sat behind his icy eyes.</p><p>The truth was that whilst he knew Perry would try to help the case where possible in terms of not allowing the Milkovich boy to be dragged through the mud without trying to defend him, he also knew that the defence attorney was being paid to keep Terry out of jail by any means necessary.</p><p>“Doctor Green, can you please advise on if Mickey’s condition would impact on his ability to testify in this case?” The Latina asked, smiling warmly at the large man who sat in the witness box.</p><p>“Yes, of course.” Perry sat forward in his seat. “I’ve known Mickey since his second admission to the hospital, February of this year. On his previous admission, a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder – B.P.D. – was given to Mickey, one of which I am in agreement with. It’s my professional opinion that this diagnosis does not inhibit Mickey’s capability to provide testimony during the case.” He nodded curtly once he had finished.</p><p>“And can you tell us what symptoms of B.P.D. affect Mickey?”</p><p>“No. Client/patient confidentiality protects that information. But I can give a generalised list of symptoms and criteria required for a diagnosis of B.P.D..”</p><p>D.A. Flores nodded understandingly, “Please do. Thank you.”</p><p>As Perry listed off the symptoms that Mickey, Mandy, and Ian were all very familiar with, Iggy sat engrossed in what was being explained, clearly trying to understand his younger brother better. And, much like Mickey had been with Ian, Perry was very insistent on having it known that a diagnosis only required five of the nine symptoms: “That allows for two hundred and fifty-six variations of B.P.D..”</p><p>“Thank you, Doctor Green.” D.A. Flores spoke calmly, nodding her appreciation. “Nothing further, Your Honour.”</p><p>The judge nodded, adjusting her glasses on her nose as she apologised quietly, then advising Mister Johnson that he could begin his cross-examination if he had any questions.</p><p>The defence attorney stood up, buttoning his jacket up as he thanked the judge. “Doctor Green, you noted that a potential symptom can be impulsive behaviour. Is it possible that Mister Milkovich could have been acting irrationally when he devised this testimony?”</p><p>Before D.A. Flores could begin to object, Perry was answering firmly: “The impulsive and/or reckless behaviour is towards one’s self; acting in a sexually promiscuous manner, substance abuse, dangerous driving, for example.”</p><p>Ian noticed the district attorney’s shoulders relax as she sat back in her chair.</p><p>“So, the likelihood of him taking drugs during the time is increased?” Mister Johnson queried, his tone dripping with that disgusting, silky venom that it did when he went on the offensive.</p><p>“That isn’t what I said,” Perry insisted, “I was simply giving examples. Aside from my belief that Mickey is capable of testifying, all information given has been of a general nature.”</p><p>“But it <em>is</em> a possibility.”</p><p>This time, D.A. Flores did not let Perry defend his words, instead speaking over him with an objection: “Asked and answered, Your Honour. Mister Johnson is just badgering the witness now.”</p><p>“I agree. Defence, please move on to your next line of questioning.” Judge Lowler looked over her glasses at the ageing lawyer, receiving a curt, submissive nod from the man.</p><p>The small exhale that Mister Johnson let out could be seen before he spoke again. “Irrational anger, emotional instability; who is to say that Mickey didn’t attack Mister Abrahms? Who is to say that something wasn’t said to Mister Milkovich – something that he didn’t like – and he got angry and lashed out? It’s possible, isn’t it? Based on what you’ve told us, Mister Green.”</p><p>Once again, Mickey’s hand was cutting the circulation to Ian’s leg off, gripping tightly as his body trembled and he shook his head defiantly.</p><p>“Would you like another copy of my evidence list which shows <em>your</em> client’s D.N.A. beneath the deceased’s fingernails?” The petite women leading the prosecution was standing, her voice and body demanding attention as she attempted to overrule the defence attorney’s low, strong voice.</p><p>“Mister Johnson, this line of questioning has already been observed in our previous session. Please move on. And avoid creating a narrative going forward.” The passive-aggressive tone that the judge used in her final sentence gave Ian a sense that she was on their side. He knew that she had to remain impartial, but she seemed to have their backs a lot – or maybe their case really <em>was</em> just that solid.</p><p>The balding man turned from the judge to the witness, asking loudly, “Just one final question, really. Is the relationship between Mikhailo and yourself solely professional?”</p><p>“Yes, he is an ex-patient of mine and nothing more.” Perry’s voice was gruff as he answered, his brows furrowed in question.</p><p>“Oh, yes. Well, I’m just curious about Mikhailo’s current job… at your brother’s auto shop.” The defence attorney was almost coy as he spoke. “Do you… obtain placements like that for all of your ex-patients?”</p><p>“No, but I don’t see wh-”</p><p>“Nothing further, Your Honour.” Mister Johnson strutted back to his chair smugly after cutting off the therapist’s words.</p><p>There was a brief silence before Perry cleared his throat, smoothing a hand over his dark moustache as he looked to Judge Lowler, asking “May I just speak briefly please?” When he received a short nod, he looked to the jurors and explained, “I help my patients where I’m able to, but not all of my patients require the same assistance. Some patients require the emotional support given during their sessions and are then able to integrate themselves back into their lives upon discharge.” He paused, perhaps wondering how to phrase his next words, knowing that Mickey was right there listening. “Mickey required a step back into society after his education was impeded on by his mental health. I didn’t give Mickey the job, I simply recommended him for an apprenticeship, something which he then <em>interviewed</em> for. I didn’t swear into this court as an ally, but as an honest man trying to help this court make headway on a murder charge.”</p><p>The previously-smarmy lawyer raised his arms as he called out, “Judge, relevance?”</p><p>“The witness is clarifying the nature of his relationship with Mikhailo, which you insinuated may be askew because of one action – which, again, Doctor Green is clarifying for us.” D.A. Flores was standing up, her hands on the table as she was straight to Perry’s defence.</p><p>The judge readjusted her glasses as she was thoughtful for a moment before concluding, “I’ll allow it. If there are no more questions for Doctor Green, does that conclude the prosecution’s argument?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Honour.” D.A. Flores nodded, sitting down and tucking a loose curl back into the clip that held her hair back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: paranoia, anxiety</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter Twenty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Love ya’, t-” Mickey’s exhausted words were interrupted by the door bouncing against the wall as it was opened with too much gusto. Ian felt Mickey physically clutch at him, saw the fear fill his eyes, and watched as he turned too quickly and reactively that he could very well have given himself whiplash.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Boom. Update. For you. Please have. Enjoy. Thanks.</p><p>Loving the feedback that I'm getting. Will continue to signal-boost the below message for everyone, not just myself.</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The slight feeling of safety that Mickey had felt when he had seen his ex-therapist was not dissimilar to what he felt when he woke up with Ian’s arms around him or heard Mandy’s words of understanding and advice. The anxiety over having somebody who knew nothing of him at all deciding whether or not he was a fit witness had made his stomach churn from the minute Mandy had come in that morning and told him that they had court that day. Perry had been a pleasant surprise, like a breath of fresh air in a hot, thick summer.</p><p>And when Perry had stopped speaking, Mickey felt that cool inhale turn in to a dry, desperate gasp for oxygen.</p><p>The conclusion of the prosecution’s argument meant that Mister Johnson launched right into a spiel of how Terry was a loving father, with only his children’s best interests at heart. Soon, it felt like Mickey would need a ventilator just to be able to get through the remainder of the trial.</p><p>“I’m calling Terry Milkovich to the stand.”</p><p>Nausea passed through Mickey, rising from his toes to his tongue, leaving a thick lump at the back of his throat. He wrung his hands together in his lap, trying to shake away the burning itch that licked up his skin. Scrunching his eyes shut, he balled his hands into fists and hammered them on to his thighs in one short, sharp motion, sending a tingling ache through his legs. Ian’s hand on top of one of his fists felt like a whisper in a crowd, barely even able to help alleviate the riot that was thrashing about in his brain.</p><p>“I’m here,” Ian said softly as he reached to take Mickey’s hand into both of his large ones, giving it a squeeze before proceeding to trail patterns over it, a calming effort that Mickey had used when he had needed to stop his hospital roommate from irritating his wounds whilst recalling unpleasant information. His boyfriend could definitely read him well and interpret his needs at the best of times.</p><p>Nodding softly, Mickey hummed his appreciation as he focused on his left fist that sat curling and uncurling against his thigh. Listening to Terry being sworn in gruffly, Mickey felt the hairs on his body stand up on end, a shiver traversing his spine.</p><p>“Mister Milkovich, where were you on Saturday the sixteenth of February of this year?” Mister Johnson asked.</p><p>So desperately did Mickey want to be brave enough to look Terry in the eye as he attempted to weasel his way out of this one, but previous experience had shown that was not a good plan. Instead, he sat with his head bowed low as he prepared to listen to the bullshit that his father would spew. </p><p>“I was on a huntin’ trip with my cousins, Pete and Tom. We set off Saturday mornin’… I didn’t get home until Sunday evenin’.” Terry’s words felt like a tightening noose around Mickey’s neck, making it harder to breathe with every inch of the lie.</p><p>“And your cousins can confirm this?”</p><p>“Yep.” Terry grunted, “Got receipts from the gas stations along the highway there and back and everythin’.”</p><p>The large man nodded. “Yes, those are in our evidence portfolio, if you’ll look to the screen. Thank you.”</p><p>Given that his father could get anybody an alibi for the right price, Mickey wasn’t shocked at the presentation of the gas receipts. The question would be whether Terry’s ‘cousins’ would be able to lie under oath convincingly if the were called upon. But he guessed that with the threat of Terry Milkovich and his associated soldiers, a sizeable sum of money, and those cold, grey eyes staring up at them that they would have no trouble.</p><p>And that raised the issue of the fact that there was no solid evidence of Terry being at the Milkovich home. No recording, photograph, or random witness who could confirm a sighting of the senior Milkovich that disproved his ‘hunting trip’ claim. The Milkoviches were known in their neighbourhood well enough for neighbours to know to mind their own business regardless of what they saw or heard – Terry had made enough ‘house calls’ over the years to ensure that.</p><p>“The witness is yours, Prosecution,” Mister Johnson said, turning away from Terry easily, showing no readable expression.</p><p>When D.A. Flores walked towards his father, her shoulders firm and confident, she asked, “Mister Milkovich, can you please confirm the times you left for and returned from your hunting trip?”</p><p>“Uh, I think Pete got there about ten, then we went to get Tom. I got home ‘round eight, nine, maybe. House was empty so I went to bed.”</p><p>Mickey clenched his fists at his father’s easy lie. The house was empty because he was yet to be discharged from the hospital, still being monitored for a concussion.</p><p>“Thank you. And where did you go on your hunting trip?”</p><p>“Little place just outside Gary.”</p><p>“What route did you take?”</p><p>“I-90, quick and easy.”</p><p>“I see you paid cash for gas. That’s handy. Why not card?”</p><p>“Don’t have one.”</p><p>The exchange between the pair was short and sharp, with Terry’s confident, smug expression never leaving his face. Mickey didn’t dare allow himself to see his father for more than a few seconds, looking away when D.A. Flores was no longer speaking and distracting his gaze.</p><p>“Thank you. Just one final question for you: what do you have to say about your daughter’s words and the evidence that followed?”</p><p>“Got nothin’ to say.”</p><p>His blood boiled. There was D.N.A. evidence that proved he had done it, and he still had the gall to all but deny it. By this point, Ian’s hands were no longer trailing patterns, instead encasing his fist in his hands, holding it safely and supportively. “Fuckin’ asshole!” The Milkovich boy hissed through gritted teeth. Mandy’s shaking breaths could be heard beside him as she gripped at his other fist viciously, begging for an ounce of stability.</p><p>“Nothing further,” The petite Latina turned sharply on her heel, walking back to her chair with what Mickey saw to be a pinched expression, her lips pursed and brow furrowed</p><p>Sitting through the two ‘cousins’ that Mickey had never heard of before completely backing up his father’s bullshit story as though they had rehearsed it to a T at the kitchen table one afternoon was infuriating. To any jury, Terry’s story checked out. Much as she had with Terry, D.A. Flores asked questions in hopes of catching them out in a lie; a slip-up in timings, a different hunting location, a route deviation. And every time, their stories matched perfectly. </p><p>The day ended with the defence presenting their too-squeaky-clean story and an announcement that they would reconvene the next morning for a final session of closing statements, jury deliberation, and a verdict. The defence had protested to a Saturday trial (clearly, Mister Johnson had an important golf appointment) to which Judge Lowler had simply said that she did not want to prolong the case any longer for the sake of Mickey and Mandy and that he would have to make it work.</p><p>The Milkovich-Gallagher clan piled back into the old, brown beater and Iggy drove them home in an uncomfortable silence, the noise of text messages being sent to bosses being the only one to cut through the mournful air.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>“Do you mind if I go and do four hours at work to cover me for tomorrow? I don’t have to, though, if you need me to stay here.” Ian said softly when all court-goers had separated themselves off in ]to their respective bedrooms.</p><p>From where he sat on his bed, Mickey turned to his boyfriend and asked in a small voice, “Can I come? I won’t get in the way, I just wanna’ be with you is all.”</p><p>“We can stay here,” Ian insisted, standing before the dark-haired boy to cradle his cheeks in his hands.</p><p>“No. I want ya’ to work.” Mickey had shaken his head in Ian’s hold. “And… it’ll be good… to do somethin’ kinda’ normal – a distraction.” Before Ian could make more than a syllable, the older boy was cutting him off again: “I’m sure.”</p><p>The short shift was quite uneventful as far as some of Ian’s recent ones, with Mickey sitting on the stool behind the register when the younger was serving and helping him put out stock when the store was quiet. There was a moment where a drunk came in trying to make a purchase and being short on cash, resulting in him yelling and throwing his weight about the store haphazardly, that Mickey’s anxiety became triggered, clearly seeing his father in the man.</p><p>Having grown up under the formidable Frank Gallagher (though much less threatening once he had reached high school), Ian knew how best to deal with a drunk who could barely see the floor in front of his feet, much less any sense in words being spoken to him. The threat of being arrested and unable to drink for his duration in a cell, along with a friendly manhandling towards the door, had the man stumbling out of the store, rambling nonsensically. Once alone, Mickey was able to ground himself pretty quickly by simply holding on to Ian’s hand and focusing on his breathing; he refused to let Ian get one of his siblings to pick him up and take him home afterwards, insisting he was fine.</p><p>Later on that evening, as they lay on Mickey’s bed, Ian with a leg and arm draped across his boyfriend for the older boy’s comfort, the pair didn’t speak much, simply revelling in each other’s comfort. As Ian felt himself slowly drifting off, focusing on the steady in and out of Mickey’s breathing, the rise and fall of his chest almost rocking him to sleep, Mickey barely broke the silence: “What if he gets off?”</p><p>Looking up, he said firmly: “He won’t.” Ian caught hold of his boyfriend’s hand, squeezing it encouragingly. “Honestly, the evidence against him is huge; have you not noticed that the judge isn’t as good at hiding her tone and impatience for the defence as she thinks she is?” He paused for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say. “And… as the wise Arthur Weasley once said, ‘truth will out’!”</p><p>The older boy lay thoughtful for a moment, not saying anything as he stared back at Ian, as though searching for the answers in his freckles. He hummed softly in response, turning his hand in Ian’s to lace their fingers together lightly. “Fuckin’ Arthur… dude also thought rubber ducks had a function,” Mickey mused, a small laugh rumbling through his chest.</p><p>That rumble, the minute tremor that spread through Mickey’s torso, drew a smile from Ian; whilst he wasn’t perfect and didn’t have all of the answers, he had ones that were perfect enough for his boyfriend and managed to pull a chuckle out through the darkness.</p><p>Ian looked up with a small smirk. “I like to think he was just <em>querying</em> if there was one,” he joked, turning and pressing a kiss to the dark-haired boy’s bare chest through a laugh.</p><p>“Sometimes I query if there’s a brain in that pretty fuckin’ head!” Mickey all but snorted out, his stomach fully convulsing with the laughter as he attempted to ward off a scrappy Ian, grabbing feebly at his tickling, jabbing hands.</p><p>“’Ey, fuckin’ quit it!” Mickey yelled between laughter as Ian prodded at the sensitive spots on his hips, a wicked grin on his lips. Between attempting to jerk his body away from Ian’s long, ticklish fingers and trying to gain an upper hand on the ginger boy, Mickey simply looked like he was partway between having a seizure and attempting the <em>Macarena</em>. “Fuckin’ giant, ginger asshole!” Mickey gasped out through laughter when Ian had straddled himself across his chest, pinning his arms down with his thighs.</p><p>His hands continually prodded at the squirming boy’s hips, his lips wide and his laughter low and loud, harmonising with Mickey’s infection high-pitched laughter (not many people had heard this laughter because it only came out when the tickle monster did).</p><p>“Stop a sec’…” Mickey wheezed desperately, fighting for breath. “’Ey...” When Ian stopped, a little concerned by the laboured breathing, thinking that maybe he was hurting Mickey somehow, he was met by big, blown eyes. “I wanna’…” The dark, expressive brows rose high as his eyes shot low, staring at Ian’s boxer-clad behind whilst he bit down on his lower lip.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Sliding an arm out through Ian’s loosened thigh grip, Mickey reached round to palm Ian’s cock through his boxers as he groaned lowly “Wanna’ eat your ass so bad, man.”</p><p>And that was enough for him. In a heartbeat, Ian climbed off of Mickey to sit back on the bed, the older regaining his hold on his hardening cock, urging him to full mast as he attached their lips in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue; want and lust. Ian made to take hold of his boyfriend, earning a commanding ‘ah ah’ from him as he jerked his hips back, shaking his head into the breathy kiss.</p><p>Instead, he was pushing the younger boy back, guiding his head down as his lips followed, and descending Ian’s bare body, his hands and mouth sucking, stroking, licking, and nipping as they went, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Through hooded eyes, Ian stared down at the dark-haired boy, marvelling at how beautiful he was, all flushed cheeks and bruised lips, his hair mussed from their previous tickle fight.</p><p>Mickey was his most free self during sex, completely and utterly letting go and giving his all during the act, and it was such an attractive thing to see. Ian always remembered how Daya had always tried to cover her mouth and suppress her moans, sometimes even looking away from him. Part of the appeal of sex for him was the noise and the full overcoming with emotion and pleasure – seeing and hearing that – and he had always tried to encourage her not to do so, insisting she was even more beautiful during. Of course, she had never believed him, sometimes joking that he just wanted her to act like a porn star (“<em>No, I want you to relax and just let it out!</em>”), continuing to repress her reactions despite his encouragement through until their last session of sex.</p><p>Feeling Mickey’s teeth and tongue sucking and pressing against his hip, his other hand teasingly fondling his balls, Ian had to resist the urge to buck his hips, instead moving to finger at the messy locks of dark hair, gnawing on his lower lip until he tasted blood.</p><p>“Such a fucking tease… but so hot…” He gasped out as he felt those perfect lips ghost across his abdomen towards his other hip bone. And as his boyfriend’s chin brushed against the head of his cock, the day’s stubble scratching at the sensitive skin, the sensation ran from Ian’s head to his toes, punching a breath out as his lungs like a bullet from a revolver. “<em>Please</em>, Mick,” he finally managed to mumble when his breath had returned, pleading for the plump lips and talented tongue.</p><p>Blue eyes met green through dark lashes. Exhales filled the air. Both boys were momentarily still.</p><p>And then the snapshot was lost. Mickey trailed his tongue down the crease between thigh and groin, his breath wet and warm on Ian’s cold, clammy skin. Teasing at his puckered, needy hole, Ian threw his head back, hands grasping at any part of Mickey he could reach; hair, shoulders, ears, forehead. The touch was not sexual, it was simply desperate, spurred by a need to touch any part of his boyfriend.</p><p>When they were intimate, Ian felt on top of the world, like they could conquer anything that could – and most likely would – come at them.</p><p>The Milkovich boy had a sharp tongue when it came to vocalising, but right now it was soft, tentative, and persistent. As Ian almost rocked his hips in motion with Mickey, he reached down to grasp at the dark-haired boy’s hand that was hooked under one of his thighs, pulling it around to settle it on his cock, his own hand staying wrapped around it to encourage some delicious movements.</p><p>As the older boy shook his hand off, taking control of working the leaking cock himself, Ian felt his stomach turning with pleasure, a hot coiling low in his gut. It made his toes curl and his mouth dry. And, clearly, the boy causing those sensations was more than aware of what he was doing because his mouth became impossibly busier as he pressed a finger through Ian’s parted lips, softly moaning deep in his throat as Ian sucked on the digit liberally, taking the next one sloppily as he tried his best not to come there and then.</p><p>“Mick…” He warned brokenly around the fingers, feeling like his legs were almost shaking.</p><p>And it seemed that that indication was what Mickey had been waiting for because almost instantly the (somewhat) lubricated fingers had replaced his tongue and his mouth had replaced his right hand, taking his length in and managing a half-bob of his head before Ian was coming hard and fast down his throat, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as it felt like he was at the centre of a supernova.</p><p>When Mickey pulled off, licking at his lips, Ian mumbled out a breathy “That was…” before Mickey was once again switching up the dynamic, thrusting hard into Ian in one fell movement, knocking the end of his response away with his breath before he could continue.</p><p>Their bodies flush together, Mickey stared deep into Ian’s eye glassy eyes as he bottomed out, mumbling “My turn now,” against his boyfriend’s lips before biting on the one which had previously bled, easily opening the ‘wound’ again.</p><p>As Mickey tongued over his bleeding lip, his eyes lust-filled and hooded, Ian slotted their lips into a soft kiss, tasting the metallic taste of his own blood on his boyfriend’s tongue as they explored one another’s mouths like they had never done it before, like they were two strangers in a crowded room who were simply drawn to one another and fit together perfectly. It was peculiar how the kiss was so gentle and innocent whilst the sex was all short, sharp thrusts, low grunts passing between the kiss; a filthy, delicious, addictive juxtaposition that made an already-sated Ian dizzy with pleasure.</p><p>The dark-haired boy’s breath shuddered as he was close, and he bowed his head into the crook of Ian’s neck, breathing wetly against the freckled shoulder. “You feel so fuckin’ good, man,” he breathed shakily, tightening his grip on Ian’s fingers which were interlaced with his, high above both of their heads.</p><p>“Love you…” Ian grunted out as his prostate was repeatedly tapped – pounded – by the older boy.</p><p>And as Mickey’s orgasm rolled through him, he came with a sharp bite to Ian’s tender flesh, only briefly reminding both boys of the time Mickey’s in-the-room monitor detail had finally been reduced after too long a session of abstinence and he had ended their escapade by getting a little too lost in biting Ian, resulting in two crescent-shaped scars on the younger’s shoulder. That was where mickey had subconsciously bitten again, only this time not piercing the skin enough to draw blood.</p><p>“Love ya’, t-” Mickey’s exhausted words were interrupted by the door bouncing against the wall as it was opened with too much gusto. Ian felt Mickey physically clutch at him, saw the fear fill his eyes, and watched as he turned too quickly and reactively that he could very well have given himself whiplash.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, near-panic attack</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter Twenty-One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I love you,” Mickey breathed out as he felt the strong arms of the younger boy envelop him, warming him through.</p><p>“That’s good because you’re stuck with me,” Ian laughed into his hair.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oops. My hand slipped.</p><p>Loving the feedback that I'm getting. Will continue to signal-boost the below message for everyone, not just myself.</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door slammed open.</p><p>
  <em>Jake was behind him.</em>
</p><p>Now he was underneath him</p><p>
  <em>Jake was dead.</em>
</p><p>Now he wasn’t.</p><p>He was previously hot, almost dripping in sex from sweat.</p><p>Now his body trembled as every muscle in his body was paralysed, frozen with fear.</p><p>As he clung to the body beneath him for dear life, anticipating the strikes that would come, he felt arms on him, and gripped even tighter, fearing he would be ripped away and forced to awaken to his dead lover. His throat was tight, he couldn’t breathe – was he being strangled?</p><p>His head reeled as there was movement around him – he was being moved – and desperately clawed at anything to hold, to keep this moment real and protect his boyfriend. Bile burned at his restricted airway as his vision was distorted, everything around him flashing colours and booming, thunderous noises.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Looking over Mickey’s shoulder, Ian saw Iggy swaying in the doorway, looking in at them in confusion before waving a hand over his shoulder dismissively, blindly grasping at the doorknob to attempt to close the door slightly. Nothing more happened other than a drunken man stumbling into the wrong room; Frank had also walked in on more than his fair share of unwanted sights when intoxicated.</p><p>Instantly recognising the panic and anxiety that was ensnaring his boyfriend, Ian wrapped an arm around him as he sat them up, holding the shaking, gasping boy close and trying to shush him as he held him close. Soothing his hands up and down his shaking boyfriend’s back, Ian spoke firmly into his ear: “You’re okay. It’s not happening. It was just Iggy.”</p><p>His words had no impact, the older boy too deep in the flashback. As he attempted to console Mickey through the trauma, holding him tightly and constantly speaking in hopes that hearing him may help, Ian felt sick with how quickly such a simple thing had changed the nature of the air that surrounded them; from a moment of making love to one of fear and pain.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The lightheadedness and nausea that encased Mickey were ever-present no matter how hard he tried to fight through them. It felt like a lifetime of reliving that dreaded night, like one he would never be able to get away from. And for a long time, he feared he would be stuck in it, unable to snap out of it, but eventually, he heard a familiar voice and the arms wrapped around him were no longer a threat but a comfort.</p><p>When the flashes of unknown light were replaced with watery shadows that gradually became familiar sights, Mickey looked around him, silent tears sliding down his cheeks, and stared at the door which sat ajar. Ian’s embrace was safe and secure; he whispered comforting assurances into his ear, his warm breath tickling the dark hairs behind it.</p><p>Once his sniffles began to subside, he felt a strong hand caressing his cheek before it took his chin and drew his eyes to the familiar earthy ones that were synonymous with home for Mickey. “I’ve got you,” Ian’s words were gentle as he smoothed a thumb beneath his eyes, wiping away the salty streaks that remained from his episode.</p><p>The complete comprehension of his surroundings and his boyfriend’s actions were enough to have Mickey cracking out a small “I’m sorry,” as he wiped at his nose, watery eyes attempting to convey his apology.</p><p>“Nothing to be sorry for!” Ian affirmed, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Come on, let’s go get showered up,” he squeezed Mickey’s hips encouragingly, “you’ll feel better.”</p><p>Looking down, the Milkovich boy was now aware of what had taken place before his panic attack when he looked between them to see the remainder of their love-making on both of their naked bodies. “I… yeah.” His light chuckle became a snotty laugh which led to the both of them soon howling with the grossness of their situation.</p><p>A hot shower was just what the doctor ordered. Between Ian holding him, massaging his shoulders, and washing his hair for him, Mickey felt like he had managed to wash away the trauma of the flashback – quite literally. Whilst he went outside for a cigarette, his boyfriend was even good enough to change the bedsheets, throwing the dirty ones into the corner of the room to wash the next day. The younger boy didn’t stop there, holding Mickey tightly as he spoke of all things far from the trial until the older boy was lulled to sleep by the soft, low tones that filled his dreams.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>As much as he wanted to believe what he had told Mickey the night before, the defence’s story sat nicely – that was the wrong word, it sat conveniently – to anybody who didn’t know any of the Milkovich family. Sure, Terry’s slurs had helped a little, but the jury was advised to disregard them, so it was anyone’s guess as to how things would go. Mandy had mentioned on the drive over that the jury only needed to be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt, but the fact was that Terry’s alibi was there and Mickey and Mandy had, to a degree, been painted as fabricators.</p><p>When the court was in session, the party of four that had travelled from the Milkovich home were shocked when Judge Lowler announced that new evidence had been submitted Friday afternoon (not long after their session had ended) and that the evidence would be presented before any closing statements were made.</p><p>“Thank you, Your Honour.” D.A. Flores walked before the jury, her shoulders back and expression relaxed. “So, yesterday we heard Mister Milkovich’s alibi and of how he was on a hunting trip with his cousins, a trip which was supported by receipts from two different gas stations along the I-90. To refresh, please look to the screen to see the times on the receipts and the station names.” The small woman held her hands behind her back, her fingers linked as she all but held a power stance without standing like Superman. “The evidence we have submitted is C.C.T.V. footage from both gas stations at the corresponding times, showing only Mister Groves on both occasions, with no visual on Mister Milkovich or Mister Kushnir an hour either side of the transaction times.”</p><p>At the presentation of new evidence that proved Terry’s alibi to be false, Ian felt Mickey’s hand on his thigh squeezing hopefully – desperately even.</p><p>“Objection.” Mister Johnson was standing to look at the district attorney as he pointed out “It doesn’t take three grown men to purchase gas. Perhaps my client and his cousin were in the bathroom, having a cigarette, or just waiting in the car.”</p><p>“This is very possible, you’re correct. However, the C.C.T.V. of the pumps shows Mister Groves’ car, matching the registration that was provided yesterday, as only having only one person in the vehicle. If you’ll look to the screen, you’ll see Mister Groves driving in, pulling up, and going to purchase his gas, locking the car behind him. At which point, the car is empty. During the car entering the gas station grounds and leaving, there is no point at which the car stops to allow anyone to exit the vehicle.” She paused as another clip from another gas station showed the exact same scene just from another angle with different surrounding cars. “So, where are Mister Milkovich and Mister Kushnir?” And with that, the Latina strode back to her seat, a half-smile pulling at her lips as she said, “Nothing further, your Honour.”</p><p>Mister Johnson attempted to argue about the late submission of evidence and its admissibility, but was quickly shut down by the district attorney noting that the C.C.T.V. footage could not be obtained until the gas stations were known. “Conveniently, the evidence showing them was not submitted until Thursday evening,” she had pointed out, her tone hard, “not allowing sufficient time for us to obtain this footage.”</p><p>Judge Lowler stated that the evidence was admissible and should be considered during deliberation. High on the fact that D.A. Flores had managed to find something that killed Terry’s alibi and that his prosecution was increasing in likelihood, Ian was unable to take in the remainder of the session in. Instead, he and Mickey simply focused on one another, both with wide, optimistic eyes as the older boy’s hands shook within his hold.</p><p>When jury deliberation was called, Mickey and Mandy didn’t know what to do with themselves, simply sitting for a moment, as though leaving would impact on the chance of being prosecuted. After some soft prompting from Ian and Iggy, the four vacated the courthouse completely, going to sit in a small diner two blocks down. Despite their best efforts, neither witnesses could bring themselves to eat, leaving Iggy to inhale his food and Ian to eat just enough to satisfy the demanding growl from his stomach. The dark-haired siblings opted to alternate between downing a cup of coffee and then standing outside for a smoke.</p><p>The advised minimum of two hours was long enough for Mickey to have made an impact on Ian’s carton smokes after finishing his own half-pack. And on the two-hour mark, the four returned to the courthouse, where they waited in the corridor for another forty-seven minutes (Ian was counting!) before court was readjourned, all pockets and purses empty of cigarettes.</p><p>“The jury finds the defendant guilty of all charges, Your Honour.” The dark-skinned woman sitting down couldn’t have been much older than Iggy, and she had had to hear the entire case – disturbing aspects and all – and try to make a decision about a man’s future. It was almost a sobering observation, to think that any of them could end up on the other side of a court case in the future. The entire process of just observing had been exhausting, so Ian only hoped he was never called for jury duty.</p><p>“With circumstances only allowing you to be charged for involuntary manslaughter, a sentence which only carries a maximum sentence of five years in the state of Illinois, I’m sentencing to the maximum on all charges based on evidence provided within this court with no opportunity for parole.” Judge Lowler seemed almost enthusiastic to list off the charges, degrees, and corresponding sentences that Terry would receive.</p><p>Mickey looked to his boyfriend in disbelief as the final proceeding carried on, and Ian simply nodded silently, offering a small smile. That was enough to for Mickey to climb over Ian’s lap and leave the room, the younger boy not far behind. Before the door had even swung shut behind them, the older boy was grasping at his chest as he stopped in the middle of the corridor, dropping to his knees, a few people stopping to look at him until they saw Ian at his side, a comforting hand on his back.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>It felt like he couldn’t breathe, but at the same time like the oxygen saturation was so high it made him lightheaded. His sight was clouded by tears even though the world had never been viewed with such clarity before. In short, it was overwhelming hearing that sentence, and Mickey’s body didn’t know how to process it.</p><p>“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” The ginger boy spoke softly, his hands warm and strong, supporting him steadily.</p><p>For a long time, Terry Milkovich’s reign of terror on his family had dictated their lives, but now… they were free of him. Not a ‘here’s a ninety-day slap-on-the-wrist sentence for getting caught in a scrap’ vacation from Terry, but the chance to finally make their lives what they wanted them to be without fear of the beast returning. In a way, they had already done that; redecorating, Ian and Mickey unabashedly fucking in the house, doing honest, legal work. They had evolved out of the Terry era gradually, and now the hammer of the gavel against the sound block was the final part of the liberation from the senior Milkovich’s grasp.</p><p>Blinking through glassy eyes, the dark-haired boy looked up to his boyfriend and breathed out a small “We did it.”</p><p>Nodding, Ian agreed. “Yeah, you did. And I’m so fucking proud of you, Mick – of both of you!”</p><p>Mickey allowed himself to melt into Ian’s touch. “Thanks… for everything…” He sighed, breathing clearly for a moment before moving to stand up. The small nod and squeeze of his bicep were more than enough of a response from his boyfriend, telling him that he didn’t need to thank him because he would anything for him, much like Mickey would.</p><p>The strength of their relationship stemmed from having someone to rely on when they couldn’t even rely on their own minds, when their actions weren’t their own but dictated by their illness. Being the other’s voice of reason and comfort, they had come to rely heavily on each other, knowing that what they gave would always be reciprocated; as Mickey would move mountains for his boyfriend, Ian would part oceans to please him.</p><p>“I love you,” Mickey breathed out as he felt the strong arms of the younger boy envelop him, warming him through.</p><p>“That’s good because you’re stuck with me,” Ian laughed into his hair.</p><p>The pair exited the courthouse and went to the nearest convenience store to purchase more cigarettes, deciding that a cigarette for a rightfully-incarcerated father would be their equivalent of a cigar for a newborn. They sat at the bottom of the courthouse steps and waited for the remaining Milkovich siblings, smoke spilling into the air around them.</p><p>In the personal drama of it all, Mickey had almost forgotten about Carol. As she came down the steps alongside Harriet, Mandy and Iggy, he dropped his cigarette, stamping it out as he stood, and went to meet the tearful woman. The hug between both people was warm and supportive as Carol shook in Mickey’s hold, murmuring ‘thank you’s between tears. She pulled back to hold him at arm’s length as she said, “You were so brave, Mickey.”</p><p>It had meant a lot to hear that from the woman whose son was dead because of his relationship with him – because of his bigot of a father. He and Carol had always gotten on well during the months of his and Jake’s relationship, with the friendly woman always offering for Mickey to join them for dinner and not batting an eye at Jake saying he would be staying the night. Carol’s home had been a safe place where he had allowed himself to feel comfortable enough to accept the affections of a woman who had no reason to care for him other than her son’s happiness.</p><p>Unsure of what to say in response, he simply hugged the mother tightly once more. When they separated, she put her hand into her pocket and producing a folded piece of paper which she pressed into his palm, saying “If you need anything, you call me, Mickey.” She looked over to Mandy and Iggy, “Any of you.”</p><p>She then looked to Ian: “And you take care of this boy, you hear me?”</p><p>A smile crept across Ian’s lips as he nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”</p><p>Carol and her daughter promptly bade them farewell with promises to be in touch.</p><p>Driving back to the Milkovich abode from the trial was much lighter than the previous occasions, with them riding on a high on their win; for Jake, for Mandy, for Mickey, for the Abrahms, and for anyone else that was crazy enough to get mixed up in the whirlwind that was the Milkovich family.</p><p>“Even on ‘good time,’ he ain’t getting’ out before he’s seventy-five!” Iggy’s words had reignited the excitement that had dwindled after insults, declarations of just desserts, and relief of the ordeal being done had finished.</p><p>“‘Good time’? The man’s never been good a day in his life; he’ll be lucky if he manages to serve his sentence without someone trying to shank his ass in there!” Mandy laughed sharply as she looked in the back seat at Ian and Mickey, her brother leaning into his boyfriend’s shoulder with tired eyes that fought to stay open.</p><p>Once at home, Mickey napped through to the evening with Ian curled up close behind him. For the first time in a long time, his slumber was peaceful, no fidgeting through nightmares or crying out in fear. He was safe at home, and his body showed as much that afternoon.</p><p>When Ian woke him up, it was to the smell of pizza and the sound of motion in the lounge. And sure enough, he walked out there to find his sister and Lip tucking into a pizza as they sat on the couch, with Mandy mumbling between bites “There’s another in the kitchen!” And that had the couple trailing into the other room to find a pepperoni pizza waiting for them, which was taken into the lounge as the four ate and watched <em>Step Brothers</em>, occasionally talking about nonsense.</p><p>It was comfortable and easy, but the only issue Mickey saw with the scenario was that he was stuck on an armchair as the couch wasn’t big enough for three teens. He would see to purchasing a second couch when he got paid at the end of the month, deciding immediately that he wanted them to have more easy-going nights like that.</p><p>The sex that night was noisy, unadulterated, and the most liberating of all. Sure, a bang on the wall and calls to shut up from his sister had briefly spooked Mickey, but not as much as before, with his mind settled in knowing that Terry wouldn’t be haunting their lives anytime soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: anxiety, panic attack</p><p>Endnote: I researched for hours on sentencing in Illinois but some of it was really difficult to understand and I didn't want to write a load of bull, so I skirted over a sentence - sorry!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For the rest of the day, they simply floated in their own dream world where everything was easy, perfect, and just so. Because it was. They had battled the demons of their pasts and regularly sedated the current monsters that plagued their minds, so now there wasn’t anything left but to be happy and succeed. And they sure as hell would do just that – together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ANYONE WHO BINGED THIS FIC BETWEEN MAY 15TH AND JUNE 10TH, THERE WAS AN ERROR IN CHAPTER TWELVE THAT NONE IF Y'ALL TOLD MW ABOUT AND BASICALLY CHAPTER TWELVE AND THIRTEEN SHOWED AS DUPLICATES OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN. WOULD RECOMMEND GOING BACK TO READ THE ACTUAL CHAPTER TWELVE NOW I'VE FIXED IT BECAUSE THERE WERE SOME IMPORTANT SCENES IN THERE I FEEL!</p><p>It is done. I wanted y'all to have this all so here it is, complete and finished.</p><p>The feedback on this has been a riot, so thank you so, so much! I'm hoping to upload the final four-part sequel in the next week or so, so keep an eye out!</p><p>As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)</p><p>Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Graduation day was an exciting one, with Fiona barging into Frank’s old room excitedly with a tray of chocolate chip pancakes stacked high.</p><p>“Good morning, boys!” She yelled, a grin plastered across her face. The grin was soon wiped away and the brunette woman was retreating from the room with closed eyes and a shock of apologies following like breadcrumbs. “God, I am <em>so</em> sorry! So, so sorry!”</p><p>Embarrassed would be putting it lightly. His sister had walked in on him rimming Mickey, spreading the kneeling man open as he tongued him eagerly. Mortified was a more appropriate lexical choice for the current situation which saw Ian kneeling back in disbelief.</p><p>“Dude, I literally don’t give a fuck that your sister just walked in – it’s <em>my</em> fuckin’ asshole she saw! So put your big boy panties on and fuckin’ get in me, Gallagher!” Sure, his boyfriend was a needy bottom, but this took the cake. “<em>Ian…</em>” The dark-haired man’s moan was low and raspy, desperate for satisfaction.</p><p>The noises that his boyfriend made tied in with him rolling his hips and rutting back against his own erection was enough for him to turn the man he loved over and proceed to fuck him until he would be limping into Ian’s graduation ceremony.</p><p>And true to his intentions, Ian had to bite back a smug grin as he walked on to the stage and remembered watching his boyfriend hobble to his seat. Accepting his diploma and shaking the principal’s hand, having his tassel moved from right to left, Ian’s grin only widened when the Gallaghers and Milkovich siblings were cheering loudly for him.</p><p>Two years ago, Ian would not have believed he would make it to this point in his life; laying in a hospital bed and refusing a psych evaluation, not talking to his family, and having dumped Daya whilst manic. But now, at eighteen years old, he had been relatively stable for the last year and a half (a blip of mania around the Christmas of his junior year, which Mickey helped him through, had been the only issue), he had a steady relationship, and he was planning to study as a paramedic in the next academic year.</p><p>In short, Ian Gallagher was riding life on a – non-manic – high!</p><p>As the remaining seniors received their diplomas, Ian sat down, constantly craning his neck to meet the blue eyes that could light up the room for him. Every time, he managed to catch Mickey’s gaze, and, every time, Mickey would be the first to look away, pinching at the bridge of his nose or running a hand up the back of his neck. It was peculiar. He would definitely check to make sure that he was feeling okay once the ceremony ended. For the remainder of his graduation, Ian’s mind was occupied by Daya planting herself in the seat next to him after receiving her diploma and waving it about in the redhead’s face with a grin, like he had not received one himself five minutes ago.</p><p>His junior year back at school had initially been difficult due to the bad blood with his ex, and as a result of their break-up, he had lost a lot of their mutual friends. Of course, being a dude dating another dude on the South Side didn’t help either. A couple of kids had tried to gay-bash Ian after Mickey had waited for him outside of school one time (Mickey had had a hard day; the pair had simply hugged on the sidewalk). He had basically re-established his ranking within the school by politely beating the shit out of the pair of them, feeling the similar rush of adrenaline he and Mickey had felt after their fights post-works do (“<em>The fucking fag gave the beat-down, assholes!</em>” he had yelled as he walked away, reminiscent of that night). Actually having a sit-down with Daya and airing it all out a month in had helped; insisting nothing had been personal, explaining that he was bisexual, and just being a decent person had him having her as a friend and ally by Halloween, and by a number of his old friends. And now the girl was one of his best friends.</p><p>Once the ceremony had let out, Ian regrouped with his family to thank them and the Milkoviches for their attendance before they all went back to Daya’s for the graduation barbecue her parents were hosting. It was a little middle class compared to a Gallagher blowout, but enjoyable nonetheless, with plenty of food and alcohol available.</p><p>Ian had hoped that a burger and a beer would settle Mickey’s strange behaviour, but it seemed to make no difference. So, he drained his beer before pulling his boyfriend aside to query the peculiarity, wondering if Mickey was having an ‘off day’ and just putting on a brave face because it was a big day for Ian.</p><p>“Hey, what’s up with you? You seem off today, like you’re itching to be anywhere but here.”</p><p>And again, Mickey’s tells were in full swing as he moved from scratching the back of his neck to pinching his nose in a fluid movement. “Nah, man, I’m fine, don’t worry.”</p><p>“You’re not. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or whatever if you’re not feeling good.” Ian’s hand was squeezing Mickey’s bicep through his navy shirt. Mickey didn’t respond, simply looking down at his shuffling feet.</p><p>“I’m feeling real good, it ain’t that.” The older man assured him, letting his eyes flit up to Ian. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he looked away again.</p><p>“Are you sure? It’s just that you seem on edge an-” The taller boy’s words were interrupted by Mickey cupping his hands as he spoke over him.</p><p>“Ian, I’m on edge because I’m fuckin’ nervous as shit right now. How’d ya’ tell someone how much ya’ love ‘em and how they make your life worth somethin’? How’d ya’ tell someone that your world literally spins for them and that ya’ wanna’ spend forever with ‘em? I ain’t good with words so tell me how I’m s’posed to do that without fuckin’ shit up.” The Milkovich boy’s words were rushed and full of anxiety, his hands shaking as they held the freckled ones in his own.</p><p>Unable to process what Mickey had said, the younger boy simply stared into his eyes questioningly. And then Mickey was getting down on one knee, dropping Ian’s hands to go to his pocket.</p><p>
  <em>Shit. Fuck. Crap. Fuck. What the fuck? Please tell me he’s just tying his shoelaces! What? Why’s he in his pockets? Does he have more shoelaces in there?!</em>
</p><p>“I dunno’ if I’d be here now without ya’, Ian. But I know there ain’t another place I wanna’ be unless it’s with you.” He paused, his chest visibly rising and falling as he pulled the small box from his pocket and opened it to produce a simple silver band for Ian to see.</p><p>It was like his world was spinning as he stared down at the beautiful man in front of him. “Holy fuck…” he mumbled.</p><p>“Yeah, I know.” Mickey chuckled, bowing his head slightly with the laughter. “I love you so fuckin’ much, Ian Clayton Gallagher, and I wanna’ marry you.”</p><p>And then his world stopped. Everything dropped away from around him. The people who had begun to notice their happenings and had gather around them weren’t there, the music barely a whisper. All that was there in that moment were Mickey – down on one fucking knee – Ian, and the ring that was staring up at him in question.</p><p>Clearing his throat uncomfortably, his eyes darting between Ian and the ring in his hand, Mickey prompted, “So, will you? Marry me?”</p><p>The expression on Mickey’s face was childlike, innocent, and fully exposed. Ian could now understand his behaviour through the day because he was laying himself bare right now and it seemed petrifying. Lips pulling into a grin, he reached out to grasp his boyfriend’s hands and pull him to a standing position as he replied, “Of course I will,” accepting the ring that Mickey was sliding on to his finger like a true gentleman. He pulled the shorter man into his chest as he mumbled “Only smartasses ask questions they already know the answers to,” between them before initiating a passionate kiss, holding his <em>fiancé </em>close.</p><p>It felt like the world never fully reappeared around them, not through the claps or cheers, nor the pats on the back, hugs, or well wishes. For the rest of the day, they simply floated in their own dream world where everything was easy, perfect, and just so. Because it was. They had battled the demons of their pasts and regularly sedated the current monsters that plagued their minds, so now there wasn’t anything left but to be happy and succeed. And they sure as hell would do just that – together.</p><p>
  <strong>- FUCKING FIN -</strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: mention of death/murder</p></blockquote></div></div>
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